Fierce Cup O Reality
by Dirk-Steadfast
Summary: There's a meteor on its way to Earth, and nobody seems to care. They're all too busy with other things to notice what's really important. Why is Blossom so angry? Is Butercup's drug addiction a serious? Why is Bubbles a stripper? Are there vampires, or is it just a series of freaky murders?
1. Chapter 1

"_A group is always easier to follow_

_Than finding something new to swallow,_

_So give us the art that's boring and plain,_

_It's easier to be different when it's the same!"_

Funbus by Buckethead and friends.

The Powerpuff Girls in:

Fierce Cup O Reality

Chapter the First,

Beginning of the End, or End of the Beginning?

It was loud in the club known as _Dirtier Dancing. _That should come as no surprise, clubs are almost always a noisy affair. The exceptions being Book clubs for the elderly and the existentialism club_. _But that's because the elderly are too frail to raise their voices any octave higher than a begrudging whisper, and as for the latter . . . well, that just doesn't really matter. _Dirtier Dancing_ bumped and thumped to popular music from these modern days and the 80's. Why skip the righteous songs of the 90's? That is a question asked by many of the people who set foot into _Dirtier Dancing. _Why should you be any exception?

Entering the building through the rear entrance (the one used exclusively by employees) with a merry skip in her step was that beautiful, caring and altogether sweet eternal flower of grace known as Bubbles, former member of the now disbanded group called the Powerpuff Girls. She walked with a dainty enthusiasm that was uncommon, and almost unnatural when seen in someone wearing heels as high as the ones she currently had on. Her shiny blond hair bopped to and fro with her steps, the little pigtails it was held in shook with a vigor but never moved from its proper place. It was a late night, but Bubbles didn't seem to care, she smiled as though it was the sunniest day of the year. Her explosive charisma shot forth in waves that demanded attention. This pissed off all of the other Dancers in the employ of _Dirtier Dancing,_ but Bubbles didn't care. She was always in a good mood.

_Dirtier Dancing's _music was simple as always that night. A monotonous thumping that shook any patron's core, and drowned out any hope they had of having a conversation with one of the dancers. Bubbles had made her way to the dressing room and just finished getting changed into her work clothes, a thin white bikini top of the laciest variety, tiny blue thong, the four-inch white heals mentioned previously and a belt. She was just now stepping out into the club's main area when a voice from the shadows came out and stroked her ears, "Bubbles, you're wanted in the private room." The voice was Frank's, the large bouncer who looked as though he just stepped out of a old painting of a whale hunting voyage, then got dressed up in modern clothing, became bored, realized the frailty of existence (in other words joined the existentialism club), and began pondering as to why he ever left the ocean's tender, moist embrace. He was standing by the door Bubbles had just come out of, his face was slightly hidden in the dark light that always accompanied neon strobes, making it look like it was part of the surroundings, perhaps a painting on the wall? The rest of him however, that is to say his clothing, popped like an out of tune string in an otherwise perfect chord! This made his plain white shirt look like the stuff dreams are made of. A evanescent fabric consisting of only thoughts and desires. His pants still looked like pants, though.

Bubbles was surprised by the sudden demand of her company only to the extent that it raised her curiosity beyond the level of, "Electoral vote, what is that?" and brought it all the way up to the area of, "Cookies! For breakfast? !" She responded in a appropriate manner, "Already? But I just got here!"

Frank nodded his head slowly, as though the myriad of naked women dancing about him were of no interest, like they were pictures hanging in a art gallery, and he was a wealthy critic whose house was already full up with photos of fruits and factories, "They arrived about twenty minutes ago, small group of college kids, asked for you by name," then the large man pointed towards a clustering of five or six men, all of whom looked between the ages eighteen and twenty-two. These boys had already noticed Bubbles, and as soon as she looked at them they began to saunter through the lightly packed main floor of _Dirtier Dancing_.

This excited group had one exception in its midst. The youngest looking of the boys walked with the timid step of a feline messiah. Afraid to tread water, yet fully aware he could walk above it. Bubbles thought that the boy's shy demeanor while among such brazen companions was cute. Most of the people currently occupying the establishment were of a much more hardy sort. They scowled, leered, frowned, drank, smoked, spat, grumbled, sighed, moaned, shook their heads, leered some more, and sweat vodka out of their pores, yet all the while showing no emotion. These enthusiastic youths were a nice change of pace, but their presence would soon become tired. But the singular shy boy was a unique oddity that was unlikely to visit _Dirtier Dancing _again anytime soon. One of the more chipper looking lads stepped ahead of the pack and spoke in a manner befitting a King's spoiled son, "Bubbles, man you are hot! It's my bro's birthday," he gestured towards the shy boy, "and I want you to give him the sexiest fucking lap dance ever!" After this was said all the boys, sans the one shy one, yelled enthusiastically, while giving out high fives to one another, as young men are wont.

Bubbles did not approve of the familiar tone of voice this self appointed pack-leader used when speaking with her, but her job required that she be friendly with every person that stepped through the doors . . . unless they tried grab her unsolicited . . . or take a picture on their cellphones, "Sure thing, Darling. Twenty bucks."

"Awesome! Here you go," The man handed Bubbles a slip of paper with Benjamin Franklin's face on it, who in turn handed it to bouncer Frank. Again the rowdy men cheered while that curious odd-man-out was pushed forward. "Have fun, Jake!" one of his friends said, "Happy birthday, bro," said another, "I fuckin love strippers!" yelled a third.

Ignoring this, Bubbles took the boy gently by the hand, "Follow me," said she, after which the group once again rallied forth an enthusiastic cry, the sort of cry given before one goes into battle. Bubbles led Jake to the back room or "private room" as it is often called, though how anyone could think of it as private is a worthy mystery that's not worth exploring. The room was, of course, much smaller than the main room, but it wasn't what would be expected from a space designated as "private." Mostly because there were other people already in the room. It was, however, removed from the rest of the crowd, with the music toned down to the point where one could hear the person in front of them (or on top) and the unnatural neon lights were replaced by overly mundane compact florescent bulbs. Every spot on every wall in the room was fixed with a six foot long mirror. These reflections surrounded the occupants with themselves, and could very easily make a Nervous Neddy true to his name. One side of the room also had wooden bench running along its wall. These seats looked as though they were just raised pieces of the flooring, and it was on these that Jake was expected to sit along with all of the grumpy men who had sultry women rubbing up on them.

"Uh, this place sure has a l-lot of m-mirrors." Noted jittery Jake.

"Yeah, it makes the room look bigger . . . and some people just like looking at themselves when they . . . you know." Bubbles sat Jake down at the far end of the bench, "Don't worry, I'll take care of you." That said, Bubbles unsheathed her breasts from their spandex holsters, and began that sexy, exotic dance that would forever change Jake's perception of the female form, and temporarily change the tightness of his trousers.

Jake, while awkwardly enjoying his current experience, suddenly was stricken with the strangest want for conversation. At the best of times, Jacob was a shy lad, so his desire to interact with Bubbles during such a unreserved act was enough to boggle even the sharpest of minds. It was as though he thought the only way to alleviate that floundering pressure pushing down on him (metaphoric pressure, not the pressure applied by Bubbles' body) was to verbally release it, or maybe he felt that he could overload the unwieldy force by feeding it its own power, thus he spoke, "So, um, uh, your name is Bubbles? That's, uh, that's a great st-stripper name."

"Thanks, my daddy gave it to me." Jake's plan failed.

The libidinous nature of Bubbles' dance, the budding euphoria prevailing within his pants, and the totally unexpected response given to him combined within Jake so as to separate his mind from his physical form for a moment. It wasn't until the song playing through the loud speakers ended, and Bubbles stopped the motion of her body, that Jacob regained his senses.

"Your time's up, babe," said Bubbles as she restrung her breasts into their proper fittings, then she moved in close to the boy so that her lips were only a whisper away from his ear, "I can give you another dance if you want, it'll only cost twenty dollars."

Awkwardly, Jacob shook his head, "Friends, holding my money," said he.

From the looks of things, Jake seemed pretty worn out from that first dance, _Maybe it's best if he goes and rests,_ thought Bubbles. Despite her thoughts, however, she did her darnedest to look upset and said, "Oh, that's too bad," then stood up and left the boy to the uncomfortable task of walking in jeans with a blatant erection.

Bubbles left the room a few minutes before Jacob was able to muster the gumption to leave and made it to the other side of the perpetually noisy club. Even still she could hear the jovial cry when Jake finally made his way back to his friends.

After that unusually sudden obligation was completed, Bubbles ascended up the steps onto the main stage, as it was time for the dancers to switch out. When her name was announced over the loud speakers, and the lights shone over her buxomly bodacious body every male in the club sallied forth an explosive and savage, baritone cheer that, for a moment, overwhelmed the music playing and wrought a sort of primeval terror over the other strippers, all of whom could feel with the entirety of their being the manic obsession these men felt for Bubbles, yet only a few of them felt concerned for her. It would not be a bold assumption to say that Bubbles was well liked at _Dirtier Dancing. _

It should come as no surprise that this is the case. After all, Bubbles had a pretty and honest face with a body that measured time like an hourglass, she could dance with a grace that would embarrass the most intensely trained belly dancers. And as far as "stripper moves" were concerned, those seemed like inconsequential afterthoughts for Bubbles, who preformed them as easily as one preforms the tying of shoes. Also she did this neat little levitating split move.

And so the night moved on like a cruel, unforgiving clock. Always in motion, ignorant to any problem that needs fixing. Oblivious to any joyful memory hoping to become eternal. It just moved, and Bubbles moved with it. More people came to Bubbles looking for private dances, even Jake returned for another round, and Bubble accommodated all of them. It was a fruitful night for her, making just over one-hundred dollars. Still, she was relieved to leave _Dirtier Dancing_ at around two AM. She changed back into her modest street clothes (which were still oddly accented by her high heals) and said goodbye to the bouncers.

Before she walked out the back entrance (or exit, as the need arises), Bubbles looked through the ajar door that led to her manager's office. He was there, organizing papers that Bubbles assumed contained important tax related information, "Matt?" said she.

"Yes?" said the older man as he swiveled around in his leather chair, "Ah, Bubbles, come on in! What's up?" Matt was friendly with all of his dancers, but especially Bubbles since many of the costumers came to _Dirtier Dancing_ just to see her.

"Nothing much, I just wanted to say goodbye before I left and . . ." Bubbles turned her head to both sides looking to see if there was anyone else watching, as though what she was about to say was some manner of horrible slander, "I was just wondering why the club never plays any music from the 90's?"

Mathew's face went blank, "Seriously?" said he, "Have you listened to any song from the 90's? All the musicians were a bunch of self centered, drug addled crybabies who only only ever sung about how bad their lives were, and meanwhile they're sitting in their mansions counting their millions!" Bubbles laughed at his ardent outburst. Matt was quite the enigma. Bubbles thought for sure the man was a homosexual, yet he ran a strip club! And did it well, too!

"Have a goodnight, Matt."

"You too, Bubbles, be safe on your way home."

"Always." Bubbles left the building the exact same way she came into it, skipping merrily and caring little for life's troubles.


	2. chit Chat

**A/N: Thank to the one who is referred to as Freak. I would have private messaged you, but you were using a guest profile. Oh well. I really appreciated your review, and hope that the rest of the story is at least equal, if not better, than that first chapter.**_  
_

_Two steps forward, three steps back_

_Without warning, heart attack_

_He fell asleep in the snow_

_Never woke up, died alone._

"I don't wanna be me" by Type O Negative

ThePowerpuffGirlsin:

Fierce Cup O Reality

ChaptertheSecond,

Chit-Chat

It was not long after exiting _Dirtier__Dancing_, immediately after in fact, that Bubbles found herself confronting a most peculiar looking fellow. So peculiar did this man look that upon first glimpsing him she thought, "My my my, what a peculiar looking fellow." and indeed, this adjective was the most appropriate that could be used in describing this person. He wore a stunning, yet altogether outdated cape, that trailed down to his ankles, while the top part tapered out a bit from the neck. It seemed to be made from the darkest matter, so much so that it clashed with the pitch black night surrounding the two. The shadows, being what they were, hid the rest of the man's appearance, but still, the cape silently spoke of its own horror, the likes of which could not be replicated by any mere mortal, or even one of the lesser known fallen angels that fill up the bible in the same way preteens fill up coffee shops. "No! Azazel could not have conceived this manner of debauchery! Only the great betrayer, ol' Morningstar, himself could have flayed all of those nuns!" That was the sort of feeling rolling off the man's cape like skin off a nun.

Now, normally, most strippers are escorted to their cars or whatnot by means of the bouncers who work at the same club. Bubbles, however, never showed any signs of needing protection despite the fact that she was accosted on more than one occasion by many of her more obsessive fans. Most of the time they just vainly tried to get her to date with them, or sometimes they just wanted to bathe her in unending praise (which in most cases is more uncomfortable than being asked on a date). There was only one instance when a slightly more determined and much more demented fan tried to kidnap Bubbles. He brought ropes and chloroform and everything else one needs to kidnap a person of interest. He did seem to forget, perhaps due to his unscrupulous monomania or perhaps due to his overconfidence, that Bubbles wielded incredible super powers. So he was more than a little surprised when, after jumping on Bubbles' back and applying the knockout drug, he was easily thrown to the ground, and methodically, she (Bubbles) began dislocating all of his . . . everything. These more historic counts of back-alley encounters in no way factor into the telling of this more recent one.

The man began to speak, "There are not many who dare to tread upon the night's domain." as he spoke, Bubbles heard a familiar, yet altogether foreign quality in his voice, like he was just manifesting this unique accent the same moment the words purred forth from his gaping voice hole. It was almost as if his voice was supposed to sound normal, but through ineffectual effort, the person warped it so that it sounded something like how an overconfident old man sounds when hitting on a much younger woman.

Bubbles looked around to see if there was anyone else to whom this man could be speaking, "Are you talking to me?"

"All manner of creatures fear the night. It's chilling darkness can hide so many unseen secrets." he took a few steps closer as he spoke, yet he was still to far away for Bubbles to see through the shadows and adequately describe his features.

"The fact that they can't be seen is what makes them secrets, I guess." said Bubbles, playing along. She did so because there were so many harmless crazy people roaming the streets, and Bubbles did not want to have to "accidentally" put one of them in the hospital . . . again.

"But you fear not the dark. You are a child of the moon! A walker of the midnight dance!"

"Hey!" yelled the former hero suddenly in the most irate manner her mellifluously delicate voice could muster, "It may surprise you, but not all strippers are prostitutes, just most of them! And before you get your hopes up, I'm not one of them!"

Evident from his voice, which was now cracked with a rushing panic caused by his own unpreparedness, the man was obviously not expecting this reaction, and so he quickly tried to reconcile the menacing powerhouse before him, "No," Stuttered he, "when I said 'walker of the midnight dance' I didn't mean street walker! I meant Child of the night! One who serves a darker god than that which is worshiped by the common cattle before her!"

"Oh, that's fine then," the girl paused to check if what she had just said was truthfully true, and after a moments deliberation, she deemed that it was.

"I too, am a child of darkness. A predator of the night, who is privy to all of the secrets that are kept hidden from the sunlit world."

"That's nice."

"And I see that you are much like me, a being who shuns that harsh, condemning world of the light."

Meanwhile, Bubbles checked all her pockets to make sure she had not forgotten anything. After ascertaining that everything needed was in their proper pocketed place she said, "Well actually, it may be strange to hear considering all the late hours my job makes me keep, but I'm really more of a day person," that said, Bubbles began to float off, "It was nice chatting with you." She waved.

"Wait!" Bubbles stopped, "You haven't even hear my offer. The one that could forever . . . _change_ your life!"

Bubbles resumed her motion, "No thanks, I'm really not interested."

"I have a mansion! If you come back with me I could show you around, offer you a _bite_ and a _drink_! I could walk you down the path of true darkness! Show you all of the wonders secretly held within the night, and my paintings of old villages set ablaze! Doesn't that sound intriguing?"

By this point, Bubbles had flown far enough away that she had to shout slightly, though unenthusiastically, so her voice could be heard, "No." she then flew straight home.

Being left alone now, the man childishly kicked the ground with his foot like a first grader who had just been rejected by his very first crush, after which he slunked back off towards his dark home.

Bubbles, upon arriving home, went through the same ablutions she always did before laying herself to sleep. She showered so as to remove all of the man stink that inevitably stuck to her skin, and attempted to rid herself of most of the glitter that was sprinkled onto her body (for reasons that are ineffable to all but beings greater than man, glitter cannot be cleared from from the epidermis in a single bathing no matter how hard the soap or loofah is scrubbed against it). She brushed her teeth, then combed her hair. That done, she grabbed her stuffed octopus, whose hat and cane had fallen off due to years of snuggling abuse, and almost instantly she fell asleep (the instant before was filled with a three second period in which a yawn took place). For a moment the sleep was peaceful, but then, slowly, for these sorts of things always happen with the subtle steps of a ballet, the fabric of her mind started to fold over itself, creating an effect like the rippling of water across the tide of her brain. As these undulations began curling over themselves more and more, an intense and sudden creationism of the id took place. Then suddenly, as though it had been that way all along, Bubbles found herself standing juxtapose with her father.

"Dad?" The Professor didn't speak, instead he silently raised his arm heavenwards and pointed a finger. Bubbles followed it up to the sky, "What?" her father remained silent, but he insistently pointed, "What am I looking for?" The Professor's face began to crush itself into an angry scowl as he started to harshly jab his arm up and down, "I don't know what your trying to tell me? !" He gave up and let his arm fall to the side, as he did so huge chunks of the surrounding city were blown away by some unseen force, what wasn't obliterated was set ablaze ,creating a hellish inferno for whoever survived. The professor turned round and looked at the destruction and misery, then he looked back at his daughter. Bubbles would be able to recall every detail of that empty visage for years to come. How disappointed he seemed, like the thing that meant most to him, the thing he loved above all else, had just betrayed him in the most awful of ways. And what made that image stay with Bubbles as long as it had was the fact that she knew what the Professor cared for most, and that was herself and her sisters.

The Professor shrugged his shoulders then started to walk towards Townsville, "Dad, Wait!" cried the women who now felt more like a girl than ever before. Yet, as quickly as the devastation had come it was not near as fast as the familiar incomplete rainbow that began to race towards the city. Of course it was the Powerpuff girls! Only they were younger, no older than five or six. They flew into Townsville, undaunted by the blazing chaos before them, and began saving lives. Soon the fires were out and the day was saved! Then Bubbles woke up.

_,_,_,_

The clock said 8:33, while the sun said, "LIGHT!" and that is exactly what was hitting Bubbles square in the brain-pan. She sluggishly arose, letting all of the fabric around her to slide off like nectar off a honeycomb, then she began to get dressed.

The reason for such a sweet metaphorical reference to a description as unimportant as the one just given is to remind folks that every action taken by Bubbles, no matter how mundane or spontaneous, was a gesture seeped in joy, unless acted upon by some nefarious outside force. Even while fighting crime, or taking out monsters, she kept a jovial air about. And even though times were tough, Bubbles always kept a smile nearby.

Awake and ready, Bubbles dressed herself in a very casual outfit, this being her day off from her erotic occupation, and merrily made her way down the steps, heading towards the kitchen for breakfast. Her quest for food was interrupted halfway, though, for upon reaching the nadir of the steps and entering the living room which bridged stairs to kitchen, Bubbles found herself starting at her sister, Buttercup, who was sitting on the couch blanketed with the wrappers and contents of many a potato chip bag. Why every bag of the salty treat was open, yet none empty, Bubbles could not say. Buttercup looked as though she was watching television, but looks could be deceiving. For the green Powerpuff's eyes wandered about in the most unfocused of ways. They would settle in on a spot somewhere in front of her, stay put for a moment, as though a great unseen mystery had momentarily captured her attention, then, slowly, her eyes would drift again to look at something new. She had even looked over Bubbles a few times in this manner before registering that there was indeed another presence in the room.

"Hey," said Buttercup with a lazy voice after she had finally noticed her sister. Then she took a bite from her delicious blanket.

"How long have you been sitting there?" Questioned the blue Puff.

"I don't know. What time is it?"

"Almost nine o'clock."

"Oh," Buttercup looked at her hands as if she needed their assistance with counting, "I guess I've been here about . . . six hours." she then occupied her hands by filling them with more chips.

"Aren't you tired?"

Buttercup nodded her head, "Yeah."

"Don't you think you should go to bed then?" offered Bubbles.

Buttercup repeated the motions she had just gone through, and even concluded it by saying, "Yeah," again, but she did not move from her spot on the couch. Bubbles continued onward, soon making it to the refrigerator where she began pulling out all of the necessary ingredients to make crepes, a dish that is as delightful to eat as it is easy to make. She began frying up the thin pastry when, after a few brief moments of solitude, Bubbles was joined by her sister, who walked with slow thundering steps that seemed tired but carefully thought out, almost as if walking was no longer a subconscious function for her. It was here that Bubbles was able to look well on her sister. She noticed that Buttercup's outfit was made up of the same clothes she had worn the day before, except it was in a much less presentable condition. Her face seemed a bit swollen, especially around the eyes, and those very same eyes were sanguine in color, due to the inflamed number of veins running through them. All of this could be attributed to her simply staying up the entire length of the night, but it was the fact that Buttercup's pupils, those black caves amongst a emerald mountain, were still dilated, despite the bright power being pushed out by the sixty watt bulbs lighting the room.

"Are you high right now?" Bubbles asked.

Buttercup chuckled a bit, a hollow sound, then said, "No."

It was then that Bubbles noticed a small white cylinder resting at the top of her sister's ear where it met with the skull, "Is that a joint?" Bubbles asked, pointing towards the questionable tube.

Buttercup stood completely still for a moment while the meaning of Bubbles' words sunk in, then, in a sudden outburst, she (Buttercup) raised both her hands to cover her ear, "What?! No! You can't prove it!" To which Bubbles let out a hardy sigh, before returning to her the making of her breakfast.

Bubbles aligned herself so that she was easily able to see the television, for Buttercup had left the machine on, and what was currently being shown was a news broadcast detailing a gruesome attack that had taken place just the night before in an area not very far away from _Dirtier__Dancing._Bubbles quickly moved back to the living room so she could better watch the program.

"Where just last night, witnesses claim a mysterious man in a cape appeared out of no where, and then attacked and killed a woman," said the generic looking news lady, "Here with me now is one of the woman's friends who saw the whole thing happen," The camera then panned over to show a middle aged man wearing a green shirt, along side him was a massive brown Great Dane who looked almost as aged as fellow next to him. Both were shaking like druggies trying to kick their addictions, "Tell us what you saw."

"Like, zoinks, man! That shit was crazy, man! At first it was just me and my friends walkin' along, trying to figure out the real identity of the Haunted Haberdasher, when we decided to take a shortcut down this dark alleyway, 'No way!' I said, 'I am not going in there! Too spooky!'

"But then my buddy, Fred pulled me aside and told me, 'If you don't stop being such a little bitch, I'm going to kick your ass all the way back to rehab!'"

At this point in the story, another man forced himself on the screen. He was bigger than the first, with blond hair and sporting a dashing neckerchief. When he appeared, the first man cringed as though he was expecting a mighty blow to come from the blond. Instead, all that came from him was, "I would just like to clarify that I did not threaten anyone. And that if I ever _did_ threaten someone for being a coward, you can damn well be sure that I would beat that person into a coma if he ever told anyone about it!" this said, the man known as Fred looked at both the dirty man in the green shirt, and the dog, with an intensity reserved for homicidal street performers and the monkeys owned by them. He exited camera right.

"Please, Sir, continue." said the news lady.

Still afraid of the lingering threat just made, the man said, "Shit man!" in a whisper, then took a moment before he continued on with his story, "So we where all groovin' along when all of a sudden this red-headed dude pops up out of no where and invites us all to some, 'Midnight masquerade!' And I was all like, 'No way, man! Last time I went to one of those I woke up the next day with vomit in my pockets, and Russian String Quartet album in my hand!' Then the dude goes all 'Teeth'n Demons on us, and damn near bites Velma's head off!

"I was out of there lickity-split, after that, Man! Like faster than a republican at a gay pride parade!" The green shirted man was winded as a result of his substantial and heated monologue.

"So, you just left your friend behind?" questioned the news lady.

"Zoinks! You don't understand! This dude was chewing heads off like they were cheap cigars!"

"But you outnumbered your attacker?"

"Woman, there were beheadings afoot!" came the cry of Fred from off screen.

The news lady turned back towards the camera that connected her to the rest of the world, "Well, that's the story, a red-headed man in a cape is at large, and biting people's heads off. Back to you, Guy."

The shot of the woman became smaller and moved to the upper corner of the screen, as it did so the image of a dapper looking man sitting behind a desk came into view, "Thanks for that gripping story, Stacey. Why, I haven't heard of a woman getting assaulted that badly since my wife overcooked our steak! Our hearts go out to the victim's family."

"Oh my God," whispered Bubbles.

"I know, Guy Manhard has got to be the most sexist news anchor on the planet!" answered Buttercup, though no question was asked.

"No, not that!" exclaimed the blonde, "What that other man said about his friend being attacked. I think I saw the same person last night. I couldn't see what he looked like, but he was definitely wearing a cape, and he said I was invited to some kind of all night rave. I think he called it, 'Walker of the midnight dance,' or something like that."

"'Walker of the midnight dance?' . . . Is that anything like being a street walker?" asked the girl with green eyes.

"No, I thought so too at first," Bubbles stopped. She was obviously burdened with a heavy thought, "I knew something was odd about him. I should have tried to figure out what he was up to, maybe then I could have been there, and saved that lady."

Buttercup released a sort of condescending chuckle, "Your right. Or maybe the guy killed that woman first, and you could have avenged her? Or maybe that guy could have killed you too?" she laughed again.

"Your not helping."

"Not trying to," Bubbles still looked unsettled and out of character, "Look," Buttercup went on to say, "what's done is done. There's no point beating yourself up over it! Why regret the past when it can't be changed? Live in the moment!"

Bubbles tried to ponder over her sister's words, but found little comfort in doing so. Despite her new proclivities in life, Bubbles still thought herself something of a hero. Not like she used to be, definitely not, but she didn't consider herself necessarily retired, either. In her eyes, it was more like a brief hiatus from the superhero business. Or maybe she thought she was on a sort of reserve list for superheros, just waiting for some monumental catastrophe that called for her unique talents. She remained this way for a short time, until she heard.

"You know, I've heard about this before." It was Buttercup, and the words she spoke, cut through her sister's thoughts like a squid cuts through water.

"What?" responded Bubbles. She looked to Buttercup, who was pointing back towards the news, which was now airing a report an a meteor that would be passing by the earth in a few days time.

"That meteor, _Jorden __S_ø_vn_ it's called, means Earth's Sleep. I think it's Dutch or Norwegian. From one of those places, you know? Anyway, they have this old legend about it, some prophet envisioned years n'years ago. Let me see if I can remember how it goes," Buttercup closed her eyes, and looked up, a movement reserved for those spelunking down into the deepest crannies of their mind, "'No grand feast awaits, no love shall be born eternal. For when _Jorden __S_ø_vn_ comes next, all will wither, all will die.' I'm not sure if that's exactly how it went, but that's about the jist of it."

"Why are all prophesies so depressing? Why couldn't anyone have predicted that the future will be filled with good times?" asked azure eyed Bubbles.

"Hey, despair is a hot commodity, it sells better than bread, and faster than Ipods," answered Buttercup, "And if your looking for uplifting news I would never go to the Netherlands. Its never been home to a cheery group of characters."

Bubbles almost laughed at her sister's last comment, but was rather rudely interrupted by the front door of their home being opened by a rough and demeaning force. That force was Blossom. The former leader of the former Powerpuff girls went through the entrance way much like a tornado warning goes through a sleepy little village. Quickly, and prone to cause panic. Still, she was greeted mostly cheerily.

"Good morning, Blossom!"

"Why do you look so pissed?"

Blossom did not respond to either of them. She instead sat herself in one of the many chairs surrounding the kitchen table. There, she put her head in her hands and let out an exaggerated groan.

"What's the matter?" asked Bubbles, placing a comforting hand on Blossom's shoulder as she did so.

Blossom shrugged the hand off, then raised her head up to shout, "The cops came by and made us break up our protest! We weren't hurting anybody! Light one trash can on fire and all of a sudden _everyone_thinks you're starting a riot!" it then fell back into her hands.

"What were you protesting this time?" inquired Bubbles.

Without raising her head this time, Blossom said, "The new building Mojo is putting up."

"Man, you protest everything! Didn't you protest the church once? !" interjected the artificially mirthful Buttercup.

Blossom looked at her sister in the same way she looked at her most hated enemies, "Churches do more harm than good!"

"A church is a building, Blossom. And buildings are neutral." commented Buttercup with hearts all alive.

"You know what I mean, you intellectual invalid!" Yelled Blossom, then she went on and speculated, "I bet Mojo paid the police to come and get rid of us!"

"It's okay," soothed Bubbles, "Everyone in Townsville knows that Mojo is a bad guy. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he gets forced to move his building to some other city."

Blossom's voice became incredibly disparaged, "It doesn't seem that way."

Buttercup took that as a cue to come up to her sister and attempt to lift her spirits. She approached Blossom like a unemployed talent scout, gripped her shoulders in a massage-like position and said jovially, "I know what the real problem is," Blossom turned to make eye contact, "Your just upset because nobody's put any _beef_ in your _taco_ lately."

As soon as the words were freed upon the world, Blossom's entire composure changed. She stood upright with such a force that the chair she was sitting on, and the table she was at flew away from her body. Both Buttercup and Bubbles felt this same tremendous power, but only Bubbles was knocked back by it. Buttercup had expected this sort of reaction, so she had internally braced herself, and now stood facing her belligerent sister with a smile. Blossom moved towards Buttercup, closing the distance between the two so that they were only a few inches apart. This way they stood for a few cacophonous moments before Blossom finally spoke, "Why don't you ever know when to keep your dirty cock-hole shut, you half-baked druggie!"

To most, words spoken in this manner with this level of hostility in them would cause fits of fear. To Buttercup, however, this riotous outburst simply invoked her to laugh, and laugh hard. Then she did the most uncharacteristic thing her sisters had ever seen her do. She began to sing, turning and walking away as she did so, _"__I__am__a__lass__who__alas__loves__a__lad_ _who__alas__has__a__lass__in__Canterbury!__" _She then quited the room leaving the other two puffs in her wake of confusion. Though, a moment after she had disappeared, Bubbles heard her voice reverberate through the walls, "Live in the moment, Bubbles! Things can only get you down if you _let_them get you down!"

Bubbles picked herself off of the floor, "Are you okay?" she asked Blossom for the second time.

Blossom huffed like a teenagerwho didn't get invited to prom, then turned to address her sister once more, "Your crepes are burning." then she left, taking her bitterness with her.

Bubbles, with eyes so blue and equally innocent, rushed over to her flaming food yelling, "Holy crape!" as she did so.

**A/N: I hope you, whoever may be reading this, enjoyed it. Leave a review if you feel like it, or don't if you don't. There will be another chapter next week.**


	3. A History Lesson

**A/N: I don't know if anyone reads this with anything other than a glazed eye of sub-interest, but, I suppose, this story was more for myself anyways. Though, maybe I'm just saying that to make myself feel better. Oh well.**

"_I blind my eyes and try to force it all into place  
_

_I stitch them up, see not my fall from grace_

_I blind my eyes, I hardly feel it passing me by_

_I open just in time to say goodbye!"_

That Was Just Your Life by Metallica

The Powerpuff Girls in:

Fierce Cup O' Reality

Chapter the Third

History Lesson

Now that the main actors have all been brought out onto the stage, revealing to everyone what they have become, it is time to take a trip back through time. No elaborate machine is necessary, nor any witchcraft or voodoo. No, our journey through this infinite chronological ocean will be taken using a far more reliable resource. Words. So I implore all of the readership to _ship_themselves out aboard this humble word-train. All Aboard! _Choo__Choo!_ It was shown previously that all three of the girls had changed. Now it is time to reveal exactly _why_ they changed. For the _how_ is simple. Time, that great panorama we are presently chugging across like a steam-bull in a metaphorical china shop, is also the great transformer of character. Nay, _how_ is no mystery, but _why_ is a much more imposing question.

Here we are at the first stop; roughly one decade before we departed (if you really wanted a more exact date you would have to ask one of the Powerpuff girls). Their father, Professor Utonium, had been hired by intimidating, but altogether sincere looking government employees to create a chemical agent. This drug would be spread across Monster Island, named appropriately after the numerous lovecraftian creatures that were dwelling there, with the intended results of making all of the beasts living on said island more docile. Maybe then they wouldn't be so prone to attacking American cities. Utonium was more than delighted to preform the task. He felt that it was a way he could help keep his daughters, and his home safe. The girls had, of course, agreed with him, why should they not? For they had more firsthand experience with the battle born culture of the beasts, and had seen the potential for a more peaceful race of beings if only they were given the appropriate guidance. But could psychiatric help be expected to be received unto _every_monster populating the planet? No. One-hundred Freuds would feint at such a perilous undergoing, and upon waking, would write in their dream journals about how libidinous their flights had been. Which is why the task was to be pulled off by medication, that universal solution to all of life's problems!

Utonium's time spent working on that project was some of the most fulfilling work he would ever be privy to experiencing. It was challenging, risky, and could forever change the world. Little did he know, that what would happen _did_ forever change things, but not in the way the scientist could ever have imagined. Unless he could imagine a species wide genocide, that would be hitting the metaphorical bullseye. The day came when the subduing chemicals were to be released. Everyone was excited and hopeful, sans a few people who felt that tampering with another creature's dominant traits was a slight against God and nature (sometimes they're the same). Still, the chemicals were spread across the small island in thick streams of gray smoke by ten old crop dusting planes. Like chariots of war did these flying machines majestically lead their microscopic troops! The process took almost three hours, and it was another five hours before enough of the dust had cleared for everyone to see what had become of the creatures. Though, Professor Utonium wasn't apprehensive or even a little bit nervous while waiting. He knew that it would take months, maybe even years, before his drug showed any sort of effect, and they were going to have to spray the island down at least a dozen more times before it would become permanent, yet still he watched as everything finally settled, and still he was shocked when all of the creatures were living out their final moments in the panicked throes of death.

It didn't take long for people to realize what had happened, instead of making them friendlier the Professor's chemical had just killed all of the monsters! An entire species was eradicated, no, not just a species. Many people were unaware of this, but the monsters were as intelligent as humans, some say more so, they could speak, and they had their own culture. Well, not anymore. Time had taken them away in a inglorious instant. Time may change a person subtly, but it is ignorant to people's concept of morality, and has been seen to destroy everything with swift prejudice. Almost immediately, Professor Utonium was arrested for crimes against nature (maybe God too, but mostly the former). His daughters were willing to fight to keep him, but the Professor convinced them that it would be better for everyone if he just went along quietly. Despite his cooperation, the Professor had to be held in a high security prison for the remainder of his days, and because his children could easily break in to rescue their father, he was not allowed any visitors. The closest the girls ever got to seeing their father was through video messages, and even that only happened once a month.

Our word-train does not follow the normal rules of the railway. We need not bind ourselves to any track of limitation. We can move freely, so as to look at the Professor's peril from a different angle. From this new point of view, we see the evil going ons in a more pure state. We can now see the truly despicable part of this whole debacle. You want to know what it is? . . . You do? ! Well it would be in poor conductorly form to deny my passengers their thirst for knowledge by remaining silent! The Professor's formula, the one designed to make the monsters less aggressive, was not the one used to kill them! "How did it happen, then?" you ask. Well, the two chemicals were switched right before the planes took off, by the very same people who hired Professor Utonium. Why? Because as it turns out, some people don't care one iota about the sanctity of life. They look upon the world and see not its splendors, but its resources, and how best to take advantage of them. After they realized that controlling a monster was an impractical and messy idea, they decided to instead just wipe them out, but to do so required some perfidious cunning. To just get rid of an island of creatures, for any reason, would attract much unwanted attention from the bleeding heart liberals who encumbered the public media with their hippie peace-talk. So they set about the motions of a nefarious plan, enlisting the Professor, generating copious amounts of hype for his project, and then, on the day the harmless chemicals of the Professor's design were to be let loose on the monsters, they swapped it out for a much more insidious agent. Worse yet, arrangements were then made to make it look like Professor Utonium had planned the massive extinction from the very beginning! It was said that he held vengeful feeling towards all monsters because of all the trouble they had caused his daughters.

As mentioned earlier, we've no need of any steel bars running parallel underneath us. Nor must we abide by any chronological template. Why look at the Powerpuff Girl's transformation as one jumbled whole when we can, at our own leisure, take the time to analyze their metamorphosis individually. This way, we shall see how they are each different in their common outrage. Because just as they are different, despite being conceived at the exact same moment, from the exact same concoction, so too are they unique in the ways they handle themselves after the imprisonment of Professor Utonium.

For our next stop, let us examine Blossom. The red-head had always been a character of upstanding morals. She felt that the government was always looking out for the people. So when her father was arrested, Blossom cast aside her emotion, and thought that perhaps his arrest was warranted (there was a warrant involved, but . . . never mind). Still, being his daughter, she looked through all of the Professor's research to try and see where he had gone wrong. Being something of a genius made all of this very easy for Blossom. She ran a few tests using the chemical created by the Professor, and discovered something very unnerving. Every result from every test Blossom ran concluded the same thing. That conclusion, dear passenger, was something we have already touched upon. There was nothing wrong with the Professor's drug! It was harmless, not just to the monsters, but to all living creatures!

Still, Blossom did not think that this transgression had been taken by the anyone declaring themselves on the side of righteousness, for she had been too blinded by her own dedication to justice to even think that a _good-guy_ could have done an act such as this. Initially, Blossom felt that it was Mojo Jojo, or perhaps another one of her family's more diabolical enemies, that had swapped the chemicals. For weeks she sleuthed among the rotted alleys where the ne'er do wells lurked just to gleam even the slightest bit of information. She dived head first into that abyss, populated by men as monstrous as the creatures so recently exiled from life. There she lived for a time. She breathed the same air as the criminals. Lived their life. Of course in order to do so she had to become a whole new person.

Removing long strips of red hair, then dying it a jet black. Perpetually wearing colored contact lenses. Completely redefining her personality. All of this was done by Blossom so that she could blend in with the other thugs who populated those dark trenches where information flowed like blood through the city's corrupt veins. She even altered the pitch of her voice whenever in the presence of these dubious people. Blossom assumed the name Helena Diabolic. It took time, almost two years, but Miss Diabolic was finally able to attain a degree of criminal fame great enough to allow entry into the most heinous of under-dwellings. For a long time, Blossom was under the assumption that Mojo Jojo, despite his newfound standing as a powerful entrepreneur, still held strong ties to the criminal underworld. She had finally learned that she was correct in that assumption.

The gang did not have a real name, as they were not the flashy sort of gang with matching colors or obvious intentions, but still, most of Townsville knew of them. When Helena Diabolic joined this corrupt group she was not outright allowed to see the monkey in charge. She was admitted as a lowly peon, and had to work her way up the ranks of villainy. This took another three years. During that time, Helena, Blossom, had to make some regrettable decisions, and preform more than a few despicable deeds. Maybe during her time dwelt in the dark, as she stared at the abyss, as the abyss stared back at her, maybe it was here where Blossom's mind began to fragment away from her noble upbringing, and make her question every idea she was raised on. When Helena was finally deemed worthy enough to meet with Mojo Jojo a conversation took place that went much like this. Remember, this is only a _possible_ conversation, not a absolute.

_Helena__Diabolic__stands__in__the__center__of__a__large,__circular__room.__It__is__very__clean__and__shines__with__new__metal.__Everything__is__well__polished.__Opposite__the__large__doorway__is__a__chrome__desk,__sitting__behind__it__is__Mojo__Jojo._

**Mojo**: So, you are Miss Diabolic? My most trustworthy of lieutenants have assured me that your loyalty is unshakable, and that you are prepared to do whatever is necessary to further our cause.

**Helena****Diabolic**: I am. And let me say how much I have been looking forward to meeting with you. Though I confess, there is little I know in regards to this "cause."

**Mojo**: Look upon my empire! I deal in only two things, yet these two things have granted me power that _cannot_ be rivaled! Weapons, the base of my fortune, and information, that silent assassin whom I can eternally rely on. One day I shall cast aside all of my weapons, as they will have become useless, and information will become both my sword and my shield. I will become the only hub for knowledge in the world! Everything anyone knows will be a result of my will! When that day arrives . . .

**Helena**: So, is that your plan then? To amass enough information so that you control everything?

**Mojo**: Ha! No, nothing so subtle. What I have just told you is a plan for the future. A future where I will require the assistance of none but myself.

**Helena**: Then why did you tell me about it?

**Mojo**: I did not tell you out of a sense of arrogance. I just wanted you to understand exactly who it is you are dealing with. I am unlike any of the ignorant felons and miscreants you have previously dealt with. Unlike myself, even, from all those years ago when I thought I could be so bold with my villainy. I already control everything coming and going through this city. You could even say that I _am_the city, if you cared for such a dramatic flare . . . which I imagine you do not. Nothing goes on in this city without my allowing it. (_He__walks__towards__his__panoramic__window__that__lurks__over__the__Townsville__skyline,__and__gazes__out__upon__the__city._)

**Helena**: Oh, I'm sure there are a few things you are unaware of. I have a few secrets you might find surprising. (_Helena__moves__closer__to__Mojo,__but__still__remains__behind__him.__A__look__of__sinister__intent__consumes__her__face._)

**Mojo**: You really believe that! It is reasons like these that make this encounter so refreshing! Too long has it been since I have had someone stand up straight before me, and meet my eyes with their own! How unfortunate it is that I have to end this meeting so abruptly, (_Mojo__turns__and__faces__Helena,_) Blossom.

**Blossom**: How long have you known? (_Blossom__looks__more__disappointed__than__shocked._)

**Mojo**: I already told you, there is nothing going on in this city that I don't already know about. And really, _Helena__Diabolic?_It sounds like something Sedusa would use as a pen name.

**Blossom**: Hey! It took me a long time to come up with that name!

**Mojo**: Did it? ! Wow, I must have exaggerated when I said that you were my most cunning enemy! Hahaha! It's a terrible name!

**Blossom**: Is it really that bad?

**Mojo**: Like, if a genocide could be a persons name.

**Blossom**: And you wonder why I hate you.

**Mojo**: No. I know why you hate me. I also know, however, that I am not the one to whom you should be directing your abhorrent attention.

**Blossom**: What do you mean?

**Mojo**: You think I am to blame for your father's incarceration.

**Blossom**: Aren't you?

**Mojo**: No, little girl, I most certainly am not. Why would I cast aside the man who is called father by the both of us? Scientifically he was my equal. I respected him. Many are the days in which I wonder if there was more I could have done for him.

**Blossom**: What do you mean?

**Mojo**: It is thanks only to my intervention that our father still lives. Still, had I only pressed my influence harder against the rash decisiveness of my contemporaries then maybe the Professor would have remained a free man. . . But why regret the unalterable past when there is a undiscovered future before us.

**Blossom**: If what you say is true, then you must know the one who is responsible for my father's imprisonment! (_Blossom__drops__to__her__knees_) I beg you! I must learn who did this so that I may carry out justice!

**Mojo**: Get off your knees, girl! (_Mojo_ _pulls__Blossom__to__her__feet_) You debase your's and your father's name with such actions! As for the revenge you so hunger for. I can tell you who is responsible, but there is little either of us can do at this juncture.

**Blossom**: Little _you_ can do! You sit here in your steel tower, a king of cowards! I would think that I have already proven to you just how far I am willing to take myself down this dark path!

**Mojo**: You may speak the truth. Were you any lesser person I would not have let that insult go unpunished.

**Blossom**: Any lesser person would not have said what I did.

**Mojo**: Indeed. Are you prepared to learn the true nature of your father's current predicament? Before you answer know that what I am about to say may sound so preposterous that you will try to will yourself into denying it. Are you ready?

**Blossom**: A thousand times, yes! Tell me their names so that they may quake in their beds, fearful of the night I come for them!

**Mojo**: Lay the blame on the ones who hired the Professor, for they hold all of it.

**Blossom**: . . . You mean . . .

**Mojo**: Yes . . . (_For__a__moment__a__perfect__silence__lays__claim__to__the__room_) Now leave me, this conversation has made me contrite. (_Blossom__moves__towards__the__door,__but__suddenly__stops__as__realization__draws__upon__her__face._)

**Blossom**: Wait! You still haven't told me about your plan!

**Mojo**: And I never shall! You think me ignorant enough to just reveal my plans to my enemies? I arranged this meeting so I could give you the information you desired. Not so you could once again encumber my future.

**Blossom**: I may have done some bad things to get here, but I still know evil when I see it! If you think I'll just let whatever plan you're hatching go unnoticed because of what you told me, you're wrong! You may be clean to the rest of the world, but I know what it is you do in secret.

**Mojo**: Yes, _you_ know, but the moment you make moves to bring that knowledge to light is the same moment I reveal just how dirty you've become these last few years. How long do you think your campaign against me could last if _your_ recent actions were brought under public scrutiny? No, I don't think you could fight me as a villain while I was called hero. So I say again, be gone.

**Blossom**: I'll still fight you. Even if it's by myself, I'll fight you any way I can! (_Blossom__flies__through__the__glass__window__overlooking__the__city_)

**Mojo**: I would expect nothing less from a you.

It would seem that Blossom was never able to shake off all of the darkness that attached to her during that time. It was here also that she began her political fight against Mojo Jojo and his multinational corporation. She could never attack the monkey head on for fear of retribution, so she chose the peaceful protest route.

Next on our journey is the boisterous and rough Buttercup. When the Professor left physically, and Blossom left spiritually, Buttercup was left in a unstimulated snare. Her father, the protector and advisor was gone. Her sister, the lone authority figure with actual authority was gone as well. For a short while, Buttercup was able to vent her energy on the lowlife scum polluting the streets. But one night the hero went too far when she beat a robber into a coma. Turns out he was just stealing bread to feed his homeless family. After that, the girls were banned from crime-fighting. With no outlet, Buttercup's frustration shot in every direction. She was angry! At everything! Nothing made sense for her anymore. For the first time in her life she had no direction to push towards. And suddenly, probably when she realized that the meaning in her life had been ripped away with no hope of returning, Buttercup stopped caring. About everything.

No longer was there a separation between day and there was, Buttercup certainly couldn't tell. Not when she spent such long stretches of time locked away in her bedroom. To her there was only the bed, adorned with a perfectly chaotic mess of blankets, which she often hid under.

"Why would Buttercup, so strong in all things, be found hiding underneath the soft layers of cotton and linen like some craven child?" you ask. Which is a question with logical foundations for there has never been a time when the hero was found wanting courage. At least before the Professor's disappearance.

It was not fear of pain or assault that scared Buttercup so. It was a fear of inadequacy. She had already failed to keep her father from being taken away, perhaps she thought that poor Bubbles would be next.

"Better it would be to just remove myself from the world, and let the planet spin uninterrupted by dreary Buttercup, than to be a part of it, and risk hurting the remains of my family," that was her new motto.

Eventually, Buttercup grew tired of being tired, and so, left her bedroom during the night's darkest hours, and ventured with unknown destinations in mind. It was by the park, ironically only a block away from the police station, when an urchin slipped out of an alleyway, and confronted Buttercup. They had a brief conversation, not even Buttercup can recall what was said, but after the man returned to his dark catacomb, she turned towards her home twenty dollars poorer, but holding a small bag containing a most dubious doobie.

She hid out in the garage, where she lit up the foul joint (an odd side note, joint is the name given to something that allows for flexible movement in an otherwise rigid device, whereas in this scenario it is used in reference to something that would break if bent, food for thought). Foul it smelled, and foul it tasted, but Buttercup still fell prey to it's whimsical charm. It made her feel heavier in the body, yet lighter in the mind. She still cared little for the world around her, but the high made her no longer care that she did not care. It was as though she had just unlearned what she had learned, or made sense of an unsolvable puzzle. She felt good for the first time in a long time.

Thus it became a commonplace thing. Buttercup would go out, purchase some reefer, and burn until the moon glowed like her pipe. Sly Buttercup took little time to cut the middle man out, and grow her own weed. She became a regular farmer, and hydroponics expert. Were her actions not sprouted from questionable roots (get it?), Buttercup's new talent with plants would be a perfectly healthy hobby, or even occupation. But overlooking the drugs would be like overlooking the death of king Hamlet, that is to say, ignoring the motivation behind the action. Eventually there was too much maryjane for Buttercup to handle on her own, so she made like any good capitalist, and expanded her target consumer base. Buttercup grew pot for herself, and then sold the leftovers to the streets of Townsville.

It was no secret. Most people knew that Buttercup sold cannabis, her family included sans the Professor. The police, however, did little to stop her obvious dealings. The main reason being that they could not stop Buttercup even if they wanted to, but also because she was remarkably benevolent (as far as drug dealers go) with the way she conducted her operation. She laid claim to no territory like other gangs, she just wandered about selling her wares. Never did she sell to children, though, she damn near checked IDs.

That is how Buttercup had been making a living for many a year now. And with both sisters engaging in felonious activities, innocent Bubbles was left to fend for herself in a world of wolves. We have seen where that has led her. As for the reasons why, well. . . Know that she does so not because of some inert exhibitionist attitude, but because of love. . . No, not that kind of love! She was now the only member of her family to work for a legitimate business, albeit a dirty one, and the money was badly needed.

Let us keep chugging along. There are more characters who yet need representation, after all. Some have already been mentioned, like Mojo Jojo, the perfidious, and layered monkey who now operates high atop a shimmering tower, as opposed to before when he lived above a volcanic mountain. This seemingly simple simian reorganized his priorities, letting go of his unnatural lust for global domination, and investing his time into more lucrative options. We speak of course of his multinational corporation. _Jo-Tech_ it is called, and it holds more military defense contracts than any other company. They produce the fastest planes, the toughest tanks, and rifles that don't get gummed up when it's too humid outside. This quickly elevated the monkey up among the world, and now he held considerable sway over much of the country.

Who next to discuss but Him. That devilish demon filled much of his time with tormenting our little saviors. But once the Powerpuff Girls were banned from saving the day, Him decided to get a new hobbie. Something . . . darker. For the sake of decency that darker something shan't be discussed lest you wish to void your contents in a most inglorious fashion, after which all nearby parties will make haste to laugh at your predicament.

Fuzzy Lumpkins was now a rug adorning the floor of some burly hunter's cabin.

The gangrene gang no longer consorted with one another, not after Ace was shot to death by an angry grocer he had tried to rob. Now they all had jobs, or had moved away to more promising cities. Lil' Arturo is now a social worker.

Princess seems to be doing fairly well for herself. Though, she has become lackadaisical in her physical upkeep. She now weighs close to three hundred pounds, and can only be moved about by a convenient floating chair that contains a snack bar stocked to full with beef jerky, and diet cola. Aside from that, Princess now runs her fathers large company, and as such, is worth a considerable amount of money. To this day she hates the Powerpuff Girls, but now has other things to occupy her time.

The amoeba boys finally combined into one larger three celled organism. Now he/they spend most of his/their time listening to goth metal, and writing poetry.

Sedusa writes romance novels under the pen name Hera Diabolic, and lives in Seattle.

The Rowdyruff Boys had disappeared even before the Professor's sudden incarceration. Rumor has it, however, that the boys have recently been seen in Townsville, lurking about.

Perhaps there are one or two or even three of you who can't help but wonder about the story of Jorden Søvn. What can be said about a giant rock flying through space? Trust your humble narrator when it is said that there is not much _to_ know. Except, however, that in time it will come close to the Earth. Yes, is will come _very_ close indeed.

Final stop, tickets please, and don't forget your luggage. I hope you have enjoyed your ride on this here word-train. If you by chance you did not enjoy our trip then hold fast to the knowledge that when next we meet up it will be in a setting far more familiar to everyone. And also, fuck you, Mr Attitude.

**A/N: I hope this clarified any questions readers (if they're there) had about the story. If not then you could try messaging me. **

**See you next week, but you probably won't see me.  
**


	4. Three Shits That Are Too Big

**A/N: I feel I should say something. Something silly, or try and make it look like some of the characters in the story are talking to me. I'm not going to do that, though. I guess I'll take this moment to ask anyone who cares to answer a certain question which has been bugging me. Why is it that in Powerpuff fanfiction whenever Bunny is brought back to life she is without her original mental deficiency? I understand wanting her to be normal, but her handicap is what made her a unique character. There's no point in having her any other way. **

**Anyway, here's the story!  
**

"_Did you hear the one about me trying to die?_

_Fist in the air, and a finger to the sky._

_Do I care if you hate me? Do you wanna know the truth?_

_C'est la vie, adios, good riddance, fuck you!"_

Under and Over it by Five Finger Death Punch.

The Powerpuff Girls in:

Fierce Cup O' Reality

Chapter the Fourth,

Three Shits That are too Big for a Standard Toilet.

The hours after ten PM were considered peak hours by Buttercup. She would wander the same route each night, never hoping for customers, but always finding them. If ever she happened to notice or be noticed by one of her sisters as she left for "work", Buttercup would feel something close to guilt. She would describe the sensation as, "Like if Shakespeare spit on my portfolio." Her sisters, or course, knew what foul intentions were intended to be took, but quickly they would remember the sad Buttercup from before, cowering away from a world that failed her, and they would pity poor Buttercup. When Buttercup saw them, she would brave a smile, and try not to remember the world she had failed.

Lately she had grown fond of the lonely darkness. Buttercup would often walk at a turtle's pace until the sun rose up and outshone the moon. There was a certain quietude that could only be reached when alone, facing off against the black night. Step by step she strode deeper into the darkness, never feeling as though some great symbolic metaphor was taking place. She lit up her blunt, and took in long breathes, holding the carcinogens in her lungs for a full minute before releasing them. She was starting to develop tolerance to the drug, and had to use more and more of it before she felt any effect. Luckily for her supply was no problem, and this was the fourth joint she had burned through that night. Significantly blazed was Buttercup now which made the cold breeze pass by unnoticed.

She didn't notice the wind, but Buttercup did noticed a strange pair of people waltz through the darkness as she did. Though, these two men were obviously unfamiliar with the tune being played because they walked as though possessed of a drunken stupor. They looked almost familiar, as though they were seen by Buttercup once before, perhaps in a dream? No, never did Buttercup dream of such a contradictory couple. The one was all scruff and jitters while the other held himself with a vigorous pretension that shown like a beacon through this darkest of nights. Also, he wore a neckerchief. Dreams they did not look like, customers they did. So she put the joint out of it's passion, as it had been burned beyond saving, and moved towards these two men. Before making contact, Buttercup listened in on their conversation.

"I don't think we should be here, Freddie! Maybe we should let the cops handle this one?" said the scruffy one.

"We both know that the law in this town is too soft!" said Fred.

"But, you saw what that guy did to Velma! Tore her apart like she had perforated edges!"

"That's why I brought along _Old Hickory." _Fred removed from his trousers a obsidian .44 magnum revolver with a barrel that measured six inches long. More of Freddie's character could be seen in this pistol than in any twenty-five minute adventure.

"Jeez, Freddie!" the companion jumped back at the sight of the enormous cannon, "I thought the cops confiscated that!"

"So did they."

The two men turned down a darkened alley in between a low-rent apartment complex and _Saint Mary's Orphanage for the Downtrodden_.

"This is where we saw that bastard last time. Do you think he's in cahoots with the Haunted Haberdasher?"

"I sure hope not," said the unarmed one, "one ghostly cannibal is already more than I can handle!"

"Well, as far as I know, the Haberdasher hasn't killed anybody . . . though he could just be biding his time, waiting for a more handsome target . . ." That said, Freddie pulled the hammer back on _Old Hickory, _and his face became alive with lines and wrinkles that spoke of the trials and punishments of this one called Freddie.

"Maybe you should put the gun down."

"Maybe you should shut up, and take point!" Freddie grabbed the smaller man, and forced him in front. They could still see blood staining the bricks of the apartment building. It patterned in a way that made it almost look like some thug's vile graffiti, or some other form of nonsensical contemporary art. But the two men knew that it hadn't come out of any spray can. It was the humble remains of their friend Velma.

"Rest well, Velma," the thin man said as he trailed his fingers lightly over the sanguine stone, "a person living ten lifetimes could nary do better job at living than you, and should there be mysteries beyond this mortal veil I'll know that you will be there to solve them."

"Did you come up with that during your poetry slam, Shaggy, or did you just rip it out of a _Pink Floyd_ song?"

Not one to let his vernacular be insulted, Shaggy responded, "You know that I was a classical literature major before you forced me into this crazy lifestyle!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Shaggy was not afforded the chance to demonstrate his practiced words as the shadows in the furthest corner of the alley began to fold and take shape. Eventually a dark figure with a ghostly face, and a stylish top-hat emerged, letting out a shuddering moan that traveled along the ground and up the pants of the arguing men. A visible shiver traveled the length of Shaggy's spine, and as it reached the apex of his skull the man shrieked like a cowardly baboon facing down a charging rhinoceros. Freddie, on the other hand, reacted in a far more practical yet equally juvenile way. He turned, and blasted two holes into the shadowy apparition.

A .44 magnum round is well known for being one of the most devastating shells that can be fired by single man. That same bullet, in the hands of an expert shot, could even be used to slay an ornery elephant, though, that elephant, due to its large bulk, will remain whole after receiving the shot. A human target wouldn't be so lucky. Especially after factoring in the close proximity in which these two particular rounds were fired, and the tight grouping executed by the shooter. All in all, a rather gory mess was made. The first bullet hit the right side of the shadow's chest, then passed through completely, taking with it a few ribs, and some of the insides which were rendered unrecognizable. The second bullet followed much of the same course as the first, but landed slightly higher, just below where the shoulder and collarbone meet. This second round took with it the entire arm of the dark figure.

Any life that the shadowy figure may have had was surely stolen away with those two blasts. His body collapsed like a lead leaf in autumn, the arm was pushed back, bouncing off the wall before landing with a squishy thud. Along with the arm and body, the top-hat of the now deceased man fluttered down at a pace made slow by its very own lofty distribution. There might be some form of political allegory in the fact that the top-hat, undoubtedly a symbol of the aristocracy, remained in the air longer then the person who first raised it above his head. Probably it was a coincident, though.

After recovering from the initial shock, Shaggy went over, and unmasked the deceased ghost (all ghosts are deceased. Duh!).

"Oh jeez, man! This is old man Rivers!" He sang out, "The friendly caretaker at the orphanage! Oh, who shall watch over the little ones now? ! They've no one but themselves!"

Freddie slapped Shaggy in a rugged and manly way, "Shut up with your whining! If I learned one thing from science class it's 'survival of the fittest!' These kids will either come out of this situation stronger, or they'll die! Either way there'll be less orphans and so the media will say that the problem is getting better!"

Shaggy could not hear his "friend's" words. The shock of watching a noble life obliterated by sheer power left the man in an closed off and rambling state, "He was probably just trying to scare off whoever it was that was stealing from the orphanage's kitchen!"

"Did you not hear me? Evolution, man! It will make or break these kids!"

Buttercup, having floated gently above and over these two men, was able to hear their conversation, and thinking that evolution was the only thing being discussed, and being something of a leaned women, she decided to drop down and add her two cents. She had heard the gunshots, of course, it hardly took super-hearing to do so, but was unable to connect them to the men below her as the chronic had bludgeoned her senses in a way that made them valid, but unreliable.

"Funny thing about Darwin," said she, "he was a huge racist! . . . and sexist!"

"Shit!" Screamed the two men, almost as though it was a practiced duet. They turned, and Freddie leveled his pistol and fired three rounds that would have felled any lesser creature. The bullets bounced off of Buttercup's indomitable skin, though, embedding themselves into the brick walls around her. Again it must be stated that the drugs in her system made empiricism impossible for Buttercup. She felt the rounds touch her body, and even felt a slight pain, but could not attribute it as an assault coming from the men before her.

"Yup, he was a double whammy of prejudice." Buttercup concluded.

Freddie and Shaggy both had a look of stunned horror on their face. The former looked at his gun, then at the girl, then at his gun again. Shaggy silently wept as urine saturated his pantaloons.

Buttercup looked between the two men, unsure as to why they were so terrified. She concluded that it must be because she had thrown them both in jail a lifetime ago, but Buttercup was no longer in that sort of position, and simply stopped thinking about it. Seconds passed in this manner before Buttercup finally spoke, "Do you guys want any weed? . . ."

The men were stunned, you would be too, and they looked at the girl who was, as far as their experiences could determine, invincible. Then, simultaneously, the men remarked how beautiful this figure before them was. Her hair, pitch as night, almost blended in with the darkness that surrounded them. Her foggy eyes should have made her seem unsure of her worldly surroundings, but her smile and abrasive confidence made for the most cocksure presence ever witnessed by either of the two men. Uncomfortably attracted were they to this hazy goddess, Shaggy because having a budding erection in pants wet with piss is embarrassing, and Freddie because he was with a friend who had just pissed himself. But still were they so cravenly affected so as to render any lustful thoughts impotent. They were made into contradictions. Like burning ice, or a martini that had been both shaken and stirred.

As though she had forgotten her earlier question, Buttercup went on to ask, "So, what are you two doing out here?" and, "Is that old man Rivers' arm over there?"

Shaggy, who was not known to be able to handle his "fight or flight" instincts flew from the alley as fast as his cartoonish legs permitted, saying as he left, "We never should have come to this town!" Freddie remained by Buttercup, unsure of whether he would flee like his friend, or make an attempt to woo the lovely girl.

Once out onto the main street, Shaggy bumped into a strangely attired man. This man was tall, probably around six feet and thee inches in height, and wore an outdated, but non the less dashing outfit which included a top-hat that might have been made by the Haunted Haberdasher himself! Shaggy bounced off the man, falling onto his rear-end. The other man remained upright like the noble primate he was.

"Ouch! I'm sorry, dude. I didn't see you dressed in all that black."

This man, dapper though he may have looked, responded to Shaggy's innocent sentence in the most dreadful of ways. In a dark rush, the man gripped Shaggy by the skull then, with a single hand, crushed it. Eyes and brain matter spilled between the man's fingers, which he didn't even bother wiping off afterward.

"It's you!" Yelled Freddie. The death of his friend had moved him to action. He raised his cannon once again, "Eat lead prejudice, Hell-spawn!"

The last bullet flew from the barrel of _Old Hickory _with a proud "Bang!" The path it took was straight, and on a course for the strange man's brain. Just like with Buttercup, however, the bullet bounced from the man's skin as though it were a mere pebble slung from the arm of a child. In so many ways did this person seem as though he were a dark reflection of Buttercup. And yet where Buttercup held a carefree guilt that made her seem the victim, the man carried an arrogance that seethed with villainy.

Freddie tried to fire more bullets, but, as anyone with a strict memory and basic algebraic skill will contend, _Old Hickory _was fresh out of munitions. The strange man, keeping in the fashion set forth by his clothes, moved in a blinding, yet appropriately bourgeois darkness towards Fred. Arms were sundered, legs were improperly bent, and Freddie's head was somehow made inverted. All of this was horrible and gory, yet the man still managed to hold about a cultured air or aristocracy.

After the pieces all fell to the ground the man turned towards Buttercup who was still in a chronic induced state of stony indifference.

"Ah, my midnight rose," said he in a voice of class, with the hint of an European accent, "To be drawn to you thus, I think fate must have pulled her unseen strings this night."

"Are you wearing a cape?"

"I am," the man held it up as though to show it off, "Do you like it? I had it hand tailored to my body. I didn't know you had to do that with a cape, but you do, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise," He swirled it about his body like a prom dress.

"So you're wearing a cape," Buttercup looked as though she were trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle within her mind, "and you just murdered those two guys."

"Murder is not the term I would use for it implies that those men were anything greater than the lowest of filth stumbling upon this Earth which rightfully belongs to those like myself . . . and you of course."

"Huh?"

That man stalked closer, almost like an animal hunting its prey, "Come with me, and I shall explain to you secrets of the void. Be as I am, and you will see things beyond the dreaming of your imagination! You will become something greater than what you already are! All you need do is take my hand," from the liquid folds of the cape came a pale hand that almost glittered with majesty. Buttercup almost took the man's hand, but as their skin came closer she felt a dark chill jump from the man to her skin. Like living, creeping frostbite did it slide up her arm, and through her body. This sensation triggered something that had been unknown within Buttercup for the longest time. A sense of danger.

She stepped back from the man. "Back off, shit-head! I might be banned from crime fighting, but I'll still turn you into another stain on the wall!"

"So fearsome!" the man laughed, "Like a child that is. I remember from years back the mighty Buttercup's strength and prowess in battle. I was positive you would be a perfect member of our fold. But if you are moved so easily to fear I can see that I was mistaken. Time has dulled you in more than one way it seems."

"That's some pretty fancy talk, and I'm sure all the girls in high-school fall for it, but unless you can back that up with some serious firepower shut your damn mouth!"

"It is not 'fire' that powers me, but the cold torture of eternity! I have inherited sights and sounds from a millennia of generations! The mountains seem young to my kind! The oceans fresh! Before my rebirth we would be of equal match, but now my power dims the sun, and makes the stars weep! I could destroy all that you love as easily as I breathe!"

In a harsh voice, one Buttercup had almost forgotten how to use, she yelled, "Bring it, mother fucker! I'm game to face you and Armageddon! I'll kick your ass!"

Again the man laughed, "No, I don't think you can."

Buttercup pushed from the ground with enough force to pull the concrete up with her. The speed at which she moved created a vacuum that immediately pulled into itself the dirt and garbage of the alley. She readied her arm to strike the dapper fellow, who remained steadfastly defiant in his posture. Not just Buttercup came crashing forward in that moment, but also a righteous desire so long repressed, aimed to smite not only the man, but all evil.

The man held up his palm, and pressed firm to the ground upon which he stood. When Buttercup's hand struck his a violent tremor shook forward from the two with enough force to crack the surrounding buildings, but the man remained unmoved. Buttercup was horrified to find her attack so easily stopped. She wondered if the man before her was as strong as his boasts, or was it that her own strength had dwindled so much?

While Buttercup's power had done little in the way of affecting the man's equilibrium it did knock his hat off, allowing the former hero to look upon her enemy. By all accounts the man was beautiful, but it was a beauty corrupted by an intense lust for power. In his red eyes Buttercup thought she could see the glimmering of a terrible deed. So pure in wretchedness was it that our former hero strained all of her muscles just to prevent an involuntary flinch. Matching the brilliance of his eyes, the man's hair was long, and ragged, almost shocking in the fact that it countered his otherwise urbane appearance.

Using his free hand, the man struck Buttercup across the jaw, knocking her straight through to the other side of the orphanage. She bounced across the concrete street, and stopped when she hit the wall of the next building over. Buttercup was in a state of near unconsciousness, but she managed to open her eyes, and watch as the world slowly knitted itself back together. When things regained their focus, Buttercup noticed the man standing over her.

"That was but a charity on my part," said he, "and my patience for generosity has all but disappeared," the man looked as though he would say more, but a natural light suddenly began to color the sky, carelessly breathing life into the world.

"But," the man continued, "it seems I have run out of time. I'll see you around, Buttercup."

Buttercup noted a strange change in the man's voice towards the end of the dialogue. It was almost as though his accent changed. Or maybe it just returned to normal? Her vision was quickly regaining its ocular faculties, and Buttercup was ready to go another ten rounds with the dastard who had knocked her about, but when she blinked he was gone.

Buttercup raised herself from the ground, wiping away the shame, and the dirt, too, "Weird," said she, "why do I feel like I was just left at the alter?" she thought further on what had just passed her lips, then shrugged, and left for home.

Bubbles awoke along with the sun that morning. It was unusual for her to rise so early, and the fact that she didn't have any work that day did little to emphasize that. But something about this morning; the bright spread of azure sky gaily circling amongst ivory clouds may have been a factor. Bubbles stretched and dressed for a day that looked to be all to casual. Long gone were the glorious days of crime fighting and heroics. Present were the nights of stripping and somnolent courtship. Though the attentions of a hundred men could never replace the love of her missing father.

Bubbles descended the steps with her usual aplomb, making note of how desolate her home looked (a strange phenomenon considering the eccentric decor of the home), despite the truly terrific weather. But with these sorts of things sometimes it only takes the cheery disposition of a single individual. Or so Bubbled thought. So she arranged a smile, unique only to her, and wore it with a pride that bordered arrogant. Like so many other optimists, Bubbles probably didn't realize that her expressions of jocularity would upset the pessimists (or "realists" as they like to call themselves) around her.

Like joy made corporeal, Bubbles danced about her small home doing the most mundane of tasks. Making breakfast, sweeping, and many things what might be considered typical for a normal morning. After that had been completed, Bubbles sat herself in front of the television, and turned on the news.

"We're now going live to Bret Stronggrin live at _Saint Mary's Orphanage for the Downtrodden_ where three bodies have been found brutally murdered. . . Bret," said the TV.

"Thanks, Guy," a new man appeared on the television, "Sam Goodmire, a young resident of the orphanage, was preforming his morning duties when he noticed a strange smell, and a large pack of wild dogs scrounging around in what appeared to be large bloody piles of human meat."

"Why is the news always so depressing?" said Bubbles. She thought about changing the station, perhaps upbeat children cartoons were on, but how often is it that one sees an unrecognizable pile of dead people. Especially by an orphanage. She remained watching the news.

The screen suddenly showed the image of a young boy, no older than twelve, who said, "Those dogs are always hanging around the orphanage. Sometimes in winter, when it's really cold, they'll snatch up one of the younger kids, but usually they keep away. I was the only one awake at the time, so it was pretty surprising to see the dogs here.

"They were fighting over some food the same way we do, but their food looked a lot more fresh than ours does. It smelled really bad, though. The orphanage smells bad, but this smelled worse."

Bret's face once again took over the screen, "One of the victims has been identified as Benjamin Rivers, the orphanage's caretaker, but the other two men remain unidentified."

Bubbles was so enraptured by the story on TV that she failed to notice her sister Buttercup enter into the house. Buttercup silently stood behind the couch Bubbles was sitting on.

"While the police have no leads on who could have committed this heinous crime they do have some theories on how it could have happened."

A police officer came into the center of the screen. He had a tired look about him with a muffled sense of distinguish that seemed oddly appropriate for his character. When he spoke it was in tired tones, "Unfortunately, the dogs made a mess of the bodies before anyone could secure the crime scene. But from what we've been able to gather it looks like these men were all quartered by horses. We're investigating anyone with access to a horse ranch in the area."

"It wasn't no horse," interjected Buttercup, "It was a man."

Bubbles started at the sound of her sister's voice. Not just because it surprised her, but because it was strained with fear, and anger, "Men quartered them?"

"No!" Buttercup yelled, "They weren't quartered at all! One man literally ripped them apart!"

"How do you know?" asked Bubbles.

"I was there, Bubbles. I saw it happen."

Bubbles got up from the couch to face her sister full on. She was scared for her, as any good sibling would be, "Are you okay? Did you get hurt?"

As Bubbles moved to comfort her sister Buttercup pushed her away, "I'm fine! Just a little shaken up. Bastard got a lucky shot on me."

"Wait," said Bubbles, "He actually hurt you? I just asked before because I know that if I saw three people getting ripped apart I would throw up!"

Buttercup looked embarrassed, but the anger that remained on her face held off any sort of condescending insult.

"He caught me off guard!"

"Who caught you off guard?" asked Blossom as she came down the steps, "Your parole officer?"

"No, you bitch! That dick with the top-hat!"

A strange sensation happened within Bubbles. Synapses started firing off, connecting invisible nodes of information, "Wait!" said she, "I met a strange man in a top hat just a few days ago!"

"Did you. Did he have a weird foreign accent?" asked Buttercup.

"Yeah! And he kept inviting me to some kinda midnight mask party!"

Blossom said to her sisters, "Who would have thought that drug dealers and strippers would meet so many strange people!" with no small trace of sarcasm. It was long since she last displayed any sort of humor, so even though it was an insult directed at her, Bubbles was happy to hear it come from Blossom.

"This guy, did he have red hair?" asked Buttercup of Bubble all the while ignoring Blossom.

"I don't know. I didn't get close enough to see."

"Do you often get weird guys in top-hats inviting you to old timey parties?" continued Buttercup.

"No, never with top-hats."

"Then I think we might have dealt with the same creep."

"Good sleuthing, detective Deedeedee," added Blossom from the sidelines.

Buttercup turned towards the red-head, "You know," said she, "why is it you're willing to go along with any stupid 'down with capitalism' movement, but when a legitimate problem is put if front of you you disregard it as nonsense?"

"Because it is nonsense!" Blossom shouted, "Top-hats and masquerades! Maybe Bubbles encountered a few freak jobs over at her whore factory,"

From the sidelines Bubbles spoke a dejected, "hey."

"But you were probably so hopped up on drugs last night that you would have thought a parked car was the Duke of Gloster!"

Buttercup moved closer to her sister, and raised her voice to match Blossom's, "Don't start with me, Blossom! I'm not in the mood! I know what I saw!"

This situation was not unusual for Bubbles, and while she desired nothing more than her sisters' happiness, she knew there was little she could do in the way of preventing this argument. So instead of partitioning her strength, Bubbles decided to changer her focus, and continue watching TV while Blossom and Buttercup continued their spiteful banter. They usually burned out after a few minutes anyway.

For a while longer the TV spoke of the previous night's murders, interviewing other townsfolk from the nearby area, all of whom offered very little in the way of helping discover the murderer. Eventually a familiar face appeared on the screen. He was much older than he was the last time Bubbles had seen him, but Brick is not one who is easily forgotten. Most people with red eyes are like that.

"It's a dyin' shame, what went down here," Brick spoke with a solemnity uncommon in former criminals. Brick's eyes matched his words in their sincerity, and he didn't look the least bit abashed or uncomfortable with what he said, "If me or my brothers was there we would have made sure no one got hurt."

The words came out of Brick's mouth like wine for the cup of Bacchus, both enticing and calming the rage of Blossom and Buttercup. The two Puffs looked at the TV, becoming both shocked and amazed when recognition revealed who the man on the screen was.

"No way!" shouted Buttercup, "that cantankerous gang of fraptious hooligans disappeared years ago!"

Blossom moved closer to the TV, inspecting it, or rather the image of Brick, with a strict industry. Bubbles responded to her sister, "I guess they came back."

"Obviously," was the stout answer given by Buttercup.

Scrupulous Blossom, however, saw something else in that brief video of her old enemy. Or perhaps it was something she felt upon seeing him. "That man who attacked you," asked Blossom of Buttercup, "did he look like Brick?"

Buttercup thought for a moment, "I don't think so," said she, "the guy who attacked me was more," she moved her hands about whilst searching for the correct word, "debonair."

"You said he had red hair, and he was able to take you down."

"It was a lucky shot! . . . and I see where you're going with this, but it couldn't have been Brick," responded Buttercup.

"Well then who do you think it was?"

"I don't know . . . definitely not Brick!"

"I can't believe that his sudden appearance is just a coincidence. Even if it turns out to be nothing we need to be sure he's not connected to all this," Blossom reasoned. The two sisters then turned to Bubbles, as though her voice was the deciding vote in an imperial caucus.

"Um," said Bubbles, "I know the guy I saw wasn't Brick. There was no way he could have been. Not enough charisma, but Blossom does make a good point."

"Figures," Buttercup said with the dejected voice of one who was used to disappointment, "Let's just go talk to him, and get this over with."

Thus the Powerpuff Girls were reborn. In a strange amalgam of coincidental events, the girls once more were thrown into the center of a fiendish crime. The three flew out to stop the perpetrator of said crime, resembling something close to a team as they did so. It had been long since the Powerpuff Girls had assembled as one, but when they moved it was as though they were five years old once again. They ascended the sky, and peered down upon reaching its apex. Blossom looked the part of the leader once more. Buttercup's eyes seemed alive with an incredible clarity, as though every torpor element of the last few years was washed away with a grim hand. Bubbles looked betwixt her sisters, and could find no memory from resent times that could match this moment in its joy. Not the sort of joy derived from love, but rather the joy of purpose.

The menace they stalked dwelt in their city, their home, preying on those foolish enough to believe his honeyed lies. But, like an aggressive surgeon, the Powerpuff Girls were ready to cut out this malignancy. They were ready to dust off their heroic pedestal, climb back to its summit, and take back their former title of heroes, screaming as they did so, "Here we now stand just as before! Even after you cast us aside we watched! Even after you grew fat, and content, and oblivious of our guardianship we protected! And now, as you slovenly let slip a wolf into your pen; we are here to save you!"

At least that is how the girls felt about the whole thing.

Their effort, however, proved greater than their cause. For Brick was watching, and probably had been since they first rooted themselves to that spot in they sky. He was looking straight at them, waiting to be seen. Smiling. When he was finally noticed, the girls made a rush, stopping a few yards in front of him.

"Hello," he said in all too casual tones, "What brings you to my neighborhood?"

"Saucy bastard!" shouted Blossom, " we're here to pose that very same question."

"Me? Why, I'm living, of course!" Brick's voice was mellifluous and mock-sincere, like a cardinal hiding amongst blue jays, or a psychologist, "This is my home you're standing on."

The girls looked for the first time at what it was they were standing on. It was a building, taller than many of the others. Blossom knew it to be one of the more praetorian apartment complexes in the city.

"You live here?" asked Bubbles with a voice moved by a slight avarice.

"Well, just the top floor," Brick then chuckled.

"I suppose your little brothers are here as well," said Blossom.

As if summoned by words of power, Butch and the simple Boomer emerged from a door adjacent to their brother. The both looked vile (Butch slightly more so than Boomer), and walked with a purpose in their step that made them all the more conspicuous.

Together again for the first time in what could be considered an age, the six beings of immense power stood atop the skyscraper, high enough almost to be considered the peak of the world. It was here on this steel monument to achievement, the mountain's contemporary, that enemies addressed each other wearing skins of friendship, but with shark teeth at the ready. The air grew restless around them, and as though it was imbued with four unique consciences, each of which moving of its own volition, the wind swept forth and created a barrier around the roof on which they all stood. Had a wind of this magnitude attacked the tower from just one side it would very likely have knocked the building over with its force, but as it was being pulled upon from every which angle, the large construct remained rooted to the ground.

"It seems even the sky remembers our old battles, and wishes to reenact them. Maybe as a way of appealing to us. But all the forces of nature could never match our combined destructive powers!" the powerful gusts forced Brick to shout these words, "I'll ask the wind to stop all this ruckus. It's no way to hold a civilized conversation!" Brick turned away from the girls and his brothers, taking in a deep breath as he did so. That breath remained within him for a moment, as though it were a concentration of his very life, and to let go of it would mean death. Then he released it, and his life did come rushing out. It did not herald his demise, however. He seemed more alive as he did it! The roar he produced could not be matched by the most savage of beasts! It made the bursting of an artillery round sound mouse-like. Yet, also did it sound vaguely like laughter. A mad sort of hyena laugh united with a bear's wrath. As the sound died away so too did the wind.

"It's like the wind is afraid," remarked Bubbles.

"Merely a coincidence," said Blossom.

"If that makes you feel better then I won't argue," began Brick as he moved closer to the three heroes, "I don't think you're here to talk about simple things like the weather, anyways. Could it be that you and your sisters are here to raise the jovial sails of friendship? . . . No, I can see from your expression that you are not."

"Where were you last night? !" Blossom suddenly yelled, having lost most of her tact in the preceding years. Even her sisters were caught off guard, though the Rowdyruff Boys were not.

"I seem to be picking up a slight hostility from you, Blossom,"Brick again moved closer to the girls so that his body was almost touching Blossom's, "I suppose you're talking about the murders that took place by the orphanage."

Blossom nodded her head, but she did so not with an earnest eagerness as is normally the case with that particular gesture. Instead she nodded as though she were imploring Brick to unload his guilt like it were a derailed freight-train, and Blossom was the quiet mountainside township that sat directly in the path of the falling cargo. Maybe such a metaphor is too dark in its landscape to fit this event. Then again, Blossom was never one for allegory or story-craft in general.

Brick began spinning an elaborate defense for himself all the while his brothers stood behind him, faces with ivory smile that seemed to halve their individual intellects, if such a word could ever be used appropriately in describing them.

"You see, Blossom, there was no way me, or either of my two brothers could have been there, for we were all at the local opera house. And, being ever the bright and genial gentleman, I will present proof!" Brick then revealed three tickets from his pocket, "I have here three tickets, one for each Rowdyruff. And I did not acquire these stubs through any unjust means, as I would have done in the past.

"But I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking, 'But Brick, could not someone easily have purchased tickets, and then simply not have seen the show?' And you would be correct in that line of logic, but who would want to miss out on _Darkening Bliss__! _ The operatic translation of the latest hit novel by author Hera Diabolique!"

"Oh my god! I so need to see that!" Blurted Bubbles.

"And if that unshakable evidence doesn't sway your heart, then perhaps this will!" Brick then pulled, from the same pocket that held the tickets, a picture in which he and his brothers were standing up on a opera stage with the cast of the smash hit, _Darkening Bliss__, _"Peer into this well of truth and tell me we're guilty! 'How did we come to share the stage with the cast?' you ask. I'll tell you then! After the finale had been completed, and the crowd finished its jovial applause, my brothers and I leaped to the stage and gave an encore for the audience with our own voices! The cast heard us, and was so moved and delighted that they joined with us in song."

"You trying awfully hard to prove your innocence," said the preternaturally irreproachable Bubbles.

"Oh, so you don't believe me? !" exclaimed Brick.

"That's not what I said."

"Perhaps you think me, or one of my brothers, photo-shopped this picture. Well then, naysayer, take a look at this!" Brick pulled from the same pocket (which, upon closer inspection, might have been his only pocket) the negatives for the photograph, "Here! Irrefutable proof that we were there!"

In this interim of silence Bubbles almost wished her sisters would begin fighting as that would at least be a familiar event for the girl. There was no fighting, though. Just abstruse, boring talk about a guilt free night at the opera.

"Well, I see you've inherited your father's wastefully energetic passion for rhetoric," said Blossom.

"Gay!" added Buttercup, "after all that wind shouting I was hoping to hit at least one of you!"

After this, Boomer, who heretofore hadn't moved, came towards Bubbles with shy steps that ravaged his previous self-image as an imposing figure, "Hey," said he in a squirrel-like voice, "do you wanna go get some jell-o with me?"

"Not really."

"Okay," Boomer then left, presumably to attain some jell-o.

Boomer must have been a reverse harbinger of sorts, because as he left so too did his brothers. Though it was unclear whether or not they wanted jell-o as well.

"Man, now I want some jell-o," said Buttercup.

The girls returned home, and waited, for there was naught but little they could do for the time being. The days carried on, taking little notice of the lives our heroes lived. Bubbles had to return to her job at _Dirtier Dancing. _Her only reason for working at that strip club was that necessity demanded it. Buttercup's source of income wasn't the sort of thing that could be put down on any tax record (not that the IRS or FBI could do anything about it), and Blossom hardly worked at all. It was like a great switch had taken place when nobody was looking. Blossom, the leader, who used to do the most for her family, was now the one doing the least. While cute little Bubbles had to pick up the slack. But Bubbles is nothing if not humble; always helping, never complaining. So she took this position of Mother, not only bringing in money for food and rent, but also doing most of the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. The motherly stripper is not that uncommon a sight in these troubled times.

While the girls faced this amorphous crisis the rest of the city welcomed a new breed of heroes with affections that bordered on amorous. Of course we're speaking of the Rowdyruff Boys, who, shortly after flying into Townsville, bequeathed themselves champions of the people, and did exactly what the Powerpuff Girls were no longer allowed to do. The day after the girls' encounter atop the tower, Brick announced to the public, in very broad yet detailed strokes of the tongue, of his and his brothers' plans to protect the city as though its seasoned law officers were a slovenly group of tubby children sequestered away at bible-camp.

Each night, as the local six o'clock news stabled its impotent steed of truth, the Anchors lavished the community with tales of Brick's seemingly insatiable heroism (one time a gang of crooks hijacked a truck full of food, and Brick stopped them by throwing the truck at a food drive, spilling the delicious contents), Butch's saucy charisma (Butch didn't speak much, but when he did the ladies, and a couple of fellows, fell eagerly into line for a ride on the 'Butcher', which is a really bad name for a sex move), and Boomer's charming intellectual hiccups (quoth he, "What do you mean an IOU isn't the same as real money? !"). The entire city was become of a veritable 'Rowdyruff fever'! Everyone except the Powerpuff Girls, who looked upon these showboating newcomers as though their heads were as big as their egos (or vise versa).

Unfortunately for all, the Rowdyruff Boys had yet to be able to track down whomever it was that committed those murders by the orphanage. Though the news seemed more comfortable reporting on the boys' latest exploit instead of the slowly rising death tole. This brought forth a new rage within Blossom and Buttercup (even Bubbles felt a fraction of the angry ardor run through her petite body), who then began working together in ways completely unknown to them. Whereas in their child years the two fought as one, now they plotted as one. A single mind working towards a single purpose. Buttercup hadn't sampled her own wares in days; all her focus was needed in her current project. Blossom too had become mentally free of the rallies and protests that had formerly occupied her mind and time. Bubbles would help when she could, but most of the time she seemed only to get in the way of her sisters' progress.

Throughout all of this, the story of Jorden Søln, the humble meteor, was wholly forgotten. But it had not forgotten the Earth, dear reader, and it grew larger as it closed in on the planet.

**A/N: To anyone who cares there will be another new chapter next week! For everyone else; go fuck yourselves! **


	5. The Great Deus Ex Machina!

"_Change your name, change your eyes_

_Become the one who I despise_

_If you are sad, and need to cry_

_Then turn around and go outside."_

Blasteroid by Mastodon

The Powerpuff Girls in:

Life is What you Live

Chapter the Fifth,

The Great Deus Ex Machina!

It was around four or five in the afternoon of the night Jorden Søln was predicted to pass harmlessly by the planet. Bubbles had set off to work as though everything were normal, and, as far as she could tell, they were since, like most of the citizens of Townsville, she hadn't seen or heard of any news about the recent murders. Right as she landed in front of _Dirtier Dancing_, the blue Powerpuff girl was accosted by a familiar face.

"So this is where you work," said Boomer, "it seems like a fun place."

Bubbles was not one for rudeness, yet neither was she one for empty pleasantries with the enemy. So, in a curt yet sweet voice of the sorts only she could produce, Bubbles said, "Why don't you fuck off?" she then smiled and continued towards the door.

"Wait!" cried the young man, "I'm not here to cause problems, or anything like that. I just want to get to know you a little better."

At all times did Bubbles have a mien of innocence. Her mind was likewise eternally composed of pure thought, but there was no doubt that a subtle shift that took place within the girl whenever her sisters were about. She would regress back into that little five year old who played with dolls, and made secret contracts with the devil. Alone, or with people of unrelated blood, however, Bubbles would become as fierce and independent a woman as the ancient Samurai of feudal Japan. So don't dare to say that she was acting uncharacteristically harsh, dear friends, for as she stood now at this juncture, Bubbles was a wolf in solitude!

"What do you want then?"

Boomer stepped forwards with a gait that showed monomaniacal passion, "You!" said he, "Just you!"

Bubbles matched Boomer's progression with her own retreating steps. There was a terrible mark in the man's eyes. Something unseen, but non the less felt. He moved forward more.

"When I saw you before, I wasn't myself, so the words came out all wrong! But I tried! I tried to tell you! Then, when we were on the roof, I tried again, but I didn't know how!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Bubbles, backing up still further.

"Us!" shouted Boomer, "You and me! Can't you see? We're supposed to be together!"

"I don't even really know you, Boomer!" Bubbles took a few more steps back. She would have retreated more, but she was pressed up against the glass of _Dirtier Dancing._ She was about to fly away, but Boomer caught hold of her wrist.

"That doesn't matter. We're so much alike! We should be together, and your sisters should be with my brothers! That's the way it's supposed to be!" Boomer's eyes still contained the dull glow of singular obsession, and Bubbles noticed that the smile on his lips did not match those eyes.

"Let go of my arm, Boomer!"

"I'm in love with you!"

"I said let go!" Bubbles hit Boomer in the chest with the palm of her free hand, sending him across the street into a collection of garbage-cans. For better or worse, the blackened glass behind Bubbles shattered with the force of her attack, allowing everyone in the club a clear view of what was transgressing.

Bubbles turned, suddenly aware of the attention afforded her, she also heard a gentle clapping coming from above her. Two men floated down, not unlike angels, and landed before the former hero.

Brick was applauding Bubbles' actions. They had amused him greatly. Butch helped Boomer to his feat, saying as he did so, "I told you it wouldn't work." Boomer retained in his gaze that same passion, which seemed to be a grotesque mockery of love, but which was now joined by a scornful rage.

At the appearance of the Rowdyruff boys, the cluster of people within _Dirtier Dancing _became boisterous, and rushed to greet their heroes. Brick, with naught but a broad smile and winking eye, bestowed upon the crowd a calming effect, somehow easing their excitement while maintaining their affections. It came to be that, in a group of no less than twenty people, Bubbles was the only one who was unhappy to see these new heroes in all their gaiety.

"Dear sweet Bubbles. You simply must forgive my brother, Boomer. He hasn't the right mind for these delicate matters of social nature," said Brick, who, after a pause, went on to say, "But he is earnest in his approaches, though he comes off a little strong. Try no to let it bother you." Brick laughed.

The three men now stood together in a row, facing Bubbles. Behind her, the crowd stood, still overcome with childlike wonder. There was no space to retreat to, and Bubbles was beginning to feel much like a rabbit when stalked by three hungry wolves. There was a push coming from the Rowdyruff Boys, almost like their intentions were so powerful that they were made manifest. Like some sort of precognitive boxer, Bubbles could feel a fight coming, one that wouldn't be easy.

"What are you three doing here?" asked the girl.

"Why don't you finish getting ready for work. Then we can talk about it in more . . . comfortable surroundings," Brick said it like he was the pimp general of the fifth divisional hooker Calvary (Brick was unawares that not all strippers moonlighted as whores).

"I'd stop you from going in there even if you bought the place!" responded Bubbles. A murmur of "I wouldn't,"s flowed about the group behind Bubbles.

"You would try," said Brick, still commanding his tongue with boot-camp efficiency, now sans pimpitude, "But I wonder. Would you succeed?"

At that moment, Bubbles could feel in her deepest mental cavities that the Rowdyruff Boys were going to attack. They didn't, however.

"Stop looking so nervous," Brick's eyes, a hellish red inferno, seemed to look through Bubbles mind, picking up stray bits of data, and bobs of ideas, "it only makes you look cuter,"added he, Boomer agreed.

"We really aren't here to fight," said he, "we just want to talk with you about your sisters."

Despite this pretense for peace, Bubbles remained fastidious in her defense, "What about them?"

"We know that their trying to find a connection between us and the string of murders that have been going around, and we want them to help us help them."

"What?"

"We want to join forces. I know we've had problems in the past, but you must be aware that overall crime has gone down since our arrival. The timing of us showing up, and these killings is just a coincidence."

"It's too convenient to be a coincidence!" Countered Bubbles.

"And if you're right then that makes the threat even greater!" Brick's yell demanded acceptance, "If someone has planned this all to make it look like my brothers and I were the cause, then you, your sisters, my brothers, and me could all be in danger! . . . Help me protect everyone. Help me get your sisters to trust us."

Brick had never spoken more sincerely. His words waxed truth, filling the den of debauchery behind Bubbles with a guilty observance never before known to the patrons. Brick unfurled his hand, pleading for acceptance with his eyes as he did so, and Bubbles went to take it up in her own so that the two would become like a powerful chain. But she stopped before any contact was made. She felt as if a snake had just offered her an apple, so she stopped.

Brick's eyes, before displaying only a humble want for friendship, now shot like cannons, burning war sounds. In those sanguine depths war was eternally waged. Never for religion, money, or land, but for entertainment.

"You deny us? You deny me? ! So be it, little girl! I offered you the olive-branch, but you've chosen the arrow!"

The three Rowdyruff Boys moved as a single being. Unstoppable in their approach. Red, green, and blue, the boys' colors of choice, and also birth, merged into a single glowing point on the otherwise dim landscape. This light wowed the crowd, while simultaneously blinding them of the boy's actions. No doubt it was supposed to have a similar effect on our former hero Bubbles, but, whether by design or lucky accident, Bubbles retained full control of her abilities. The moment Brick declared battle with her, Bubbles shot straight into the sky, moving at speeds even she feared. Without looking back, nor with any doubts that she was being followed, it was time to find Blossom and Buttercup.

Bubbles hadn't the slightest idea of where to begin her search. Neither of her sisters kept a regular schedule with which Bubbles could track them, so the journey was more or less random. She started by heading back to her house. Her arrival was matched in its grace only by a jumbo jet crashing to the ground at full speed. Most of her house was destroyed before the boys even arrived, as Bubbles' landing had knocked the entire roof of her house off. Bubbles used her x-ray vision to quickly examine the contents of her home.

"Shit!" she yelled as her eyes informed her that she was alone. That soon changed as the boys crashed into a remaining portion of Bubbles' home, leaving only a pitiful shell of walls. Heat began to blast out of the boys' eyes in short bursts. Bubbles was able to deflect or doge most of them, but one caught her in the chest, knocking her through another piece of her home.

_No time for rest, Bubbles. No time for pain! _went the thoughts of our hero (she had only just retired from retirement). Bubbles refreshed the dimming sky with a new streak of blue, as she flew again. The Boys then threw their own paint on the orange, sun shy firmament.

Lasers began to fly with such a ferocity that the landscape began to remind older citizens of that one _Laser Floyd_ concert they saw despite the objections of their parents. Bubbles now had to watch her back to avoid getting stung by these boiling arrows.

A quick interjection. In order for the reader to gain full appreciation of the hot power that emanated from the Rowdyruff Boys' eyes an analogy must needs be made. These blasts of heat could liquefy steel, render sand to glass, and scorch so severely as to instantly cure an Eskimo of their perpetual frostbite. All manner of apologies are put forth in order to acquire your forgiveness, and this sort of rude obtrusion into what is probably your most private of solitudes will not be tolerated by the author again. Thank you for your time.

While Bubbles was able to keep clean of these molten missiles (besides that one back at home), the many buildings of Towsnville were not so lucky. Many of the towering structure collapsed from the bombardment, and would have crushed those standing beneath if naught for Blossom and Buttercup's timely arrival. The two Powerpuffs weren't able to save everyone from the falling glass and steel, but they did keep the loss of life down below catastrophic levels.

Something had shifted. Whether it was fate's hand that moved, or the hand of the clock of Destiny, or maybe it was just the hand of a woman named Fate moving to check her watch which was built by a company know as _Des-Tini_ (pronounced "destiny," though there are those among the human race who insist that the "S" in "Des" is as silent as that fat guy Bob. These people don't know what they're talking about, or are French. Maybe both). Before assuming that all these manual ramblings are just pseudo-philosophical jibber-jabber know that veritably, Blossom, Buttercup, Bubbles, and perhaps even Brick, Butch, and ol' Boomer, all felt an unnatural, yet unobtrusive push to being there, in that spot. Was there anything of actual importance at that one location, though? More likely it was not the spot they were in physically, but the spot they were in metaphysically. It could be that the hand that moved was a spiritual one, massaging away the toils of a short life lived long. The three Powerpuff Girls no longer felt ill at ease with their lot in life. They felt attuned with mother nature, or at least their city. The shadowy veils that had so long been hiding their true persona had been eaten up by a much larger breed of righteousness. It felt good. They felt good. They were good.

But this might all be the sloppy crap shoutings of an abstruse moron.

"Standing as equals, three kings meet with three queens-" began Brick.

"Oh, shut it, you puffed up smegma choker!" interrupted Buttercup, "You like to hear yourself talk more than monkeys like to jerk it!"

Brick was slightly taken aback.

"Very true," added Boomer.

"We try to ignore it," said Butch with a twitch.

"Judas! The both of you!" yelled Brick as he slapped his two brothers.

Before the three brothers could aggressively display their powers on one another, Blossom said, "I don't care how often you stoke the furnace, I just want to know how the three of you, who barely have half a wit to share amongst yourselves, managed to murder all those people without leaving a trace of evidence? !"

"I would love to tell you all about it, Sweet-nothings, but apparently I talk too much."

Buttercup rolled her jade/jaded eyes, "Let's just give em an ass whoopin' and force em to tell us!"

Brick laughed, "You're welcome to try," he met Buttercup with eyes that were locked, cocked, and ready to fire, "but I really don't think you can."

There was a twitch that ran a marathon through Buttercup, and it scored the gold medal because it was almost imperceptible due to its speed. It was something akin to the spasmodic tremors known well to Butch, but when put through the normally sane Buttercup filter it became ten times the omen. She bellowed a Valkyrie's song and charged the red-headed boy. Her counterpart had a different idea of how this battle was to take place, which is why he intercepted the girl, and pulled her down with him to the ground, trading seismic blows along the way. As if taking a cue from his brother, Boomer crashed into Bubbled, pushing her across the city in a tangled up sphere of blue light. It wasn't long before streaks of red heat began to fire from this azure ball of yarn.

Blossom remained floating across from Brick. For a moment they held, sizing the other up, until Brick made a motion with his hand that seemed to say, "Let us dance to this dirge of warrior's. Let us waltz these doomed steps," and so they did.

The dimming sun's melodic rays began to ease into a more lethargic scale. Nature's orchestra had long past its midday crescendo, and was just about packed up for the day. Unaware of Gaea's fading song, the six fought on, like modern titans in miniature form. The Girls seemed to be handling themselves better than the boys, but it was the city itself that took the most hits. It was falling apart in layers, almost like a snake shedding skin. Unlike that limbless reptile, though, the city was not refreshed with a shiny new epidermis (or scales).

The girls had tapped into a reserve of strength that made them seem not the least bit out of practice. This may have been caused by the audacity of their opponents, or it might have been fueled by a rage present in all people when forced into the despondent state of helplessness provided by deceitful cultural obligations, but made a thousand times more potent by the presence of chemical X. How many bankers and salary-men would put up with their superiors if they were powered by that very same mystery agent that flowed freely through the girls? In any case, however it was that this extra power came to them, the Powerpuff Girls were slowly gaining the advantage of the Rowdyruff Boys, as they re-familiarized themselves with their abilities.

A fight such as this one, if experienced through ocular means, would yield pathetic results, even with eyes resolute enough to best a gorgon in a staring competition. Even if one were to say, "Enough with these deceitful eyes of mine! I'll listen to the combat!" they too would be disappointed as the only thing to be heard was the boom of moaning buildings and the splash of breaking glass all coming together simultaneously like a concrete thunderstorm. But luckily we have at our disposal the most leisurely method of sensory appreciation (as you may have read before), language's artistic younger brother (or sister), the written word.

In order to maximize the effectiveness of this here spool of battle-ready words the story shall now diverge into three separate paths. The reader should keep in mind that all of the following events occurred at the same time, and should not be confused with an actual progression of story. In fact, it might be better for all parties to treat this next segment as though it were but an exaggerated exercise in the superfluous. Hell, you might as well think of the whole story this way.

Buttercup was first to engage in battle so it is only fitting that this narration focus first on her. After she and Butch tumbled from the sky at a comet's pace, bouncing off the glass and steel bones of skyscrapers on the way down, they crashed through the flat roof of a smaller building with Butch landing on top of her. While Buttercup took a second to recover from the sudden shock, Butch pressed on with his assault by smashing both his fists on the girl's chest, causing the two to fall through the ten stories of floor beneath them, blowing out every window on the way down.

Butch emerged from the building the same way he entered it. He then flew across the street, and fired several blasts of his heat-vision at critical spots in the structure, piercing the concrete and destroying the supports. The building shuddered, let out a rolling death moan, then folded in on itself like man who's skin submarine had just been kicked to pieces.

Dust from the fallen stone had blanketed the entire street preventing Butch from seeing the destruction he had caused. Still he shouted, "What's wrong, Buttercup? ! I thought you were supposed to be the tough one? !" His eye was twitching like a homicidal dancer with bullet-casing tap-shoes.

The response Butch received was not the one he was expecting. Truth be told he wasn't expecting any response. He heard what started out as a low growl that rapidly escalated to a roar. The dust was pushed away by this guttural sound. By the time it reached its pinnacle the street was clear of ocular disorientation. The crumpled prison that held Buttercup exploded off of her, causing the still floating Butch to cover his face lest it be marred by flying rock.

"I'm not tough!" Yelled Buttercup. Then she took to the air faster than the eyes of her enemy could react, grabbed Butch by the collar, and continued, "I'm just relentless!"

Buttercup ripped Butch from the sky, slamming him face first into the pavement. While he was spitting out chunks of gravel Buttercup took a fistful of his atramental hair, and dragged Butch across the ground fast enough to make any physicist question if matter really can't move faster than energy. Buttercup became like a train set so ardently to its steel rails that nothing less than a nightmarish explosion could upend her progression. So it goes without saying that the numerous buildings laid before her where plowed through like they were but cardboard caricatures of the real thing. When she did finally stop it wasn't because of any obstruction, it was because she had run straight out of Townsville, and the forested surrounding wasn't copacetic with Buttercup's fighting spirit. So she tightened her grip on the Rowdyruff's head, and threw him back towards the City as hard as she could.

While this tumultuous engagement was repaving the roads with Butch flavored tar, an equally heated battle was being raged by a significantly daintier woman, though, even she was rising to this cacophonous occasion. Boomer had caught Bubbles off guard when first he struck. She had managed to recover while tumbling through the air with her attacker, and began to heat up the sky with her laser-vision. Her aim was true, and undoubtedly painful, but Boomer was made invulnerable by his rage. The hurt of rejection, the embarrassment, too, were blinders, allowing the boy to see only what was directly in front of him.

Had this fight taken place years ago, Bubbles would be a jittery beehive of honey-stuck nerves. But during that peaceful interim, when she danced the night away instead of fought it, Bubbles had learned a new confidence that can only come from age. This allowed her to move with a precision matching that of spider knitting a web, ducking between the big, wrecking-ball swings of Boomer's fists, and landing plenty of little stings. Of course, the constant evasion of his attacks did nothing to quell the scorned anger of Boomer who, with each miss, redoubled his efforts. Sheer numbers rather than skill were what eventually let the Rowdyruff land a blow, sending the woman spiraling across the street. Boomer stomped towards the fallen Bubbles like a bull who, after too many drinks, turned into a riotous drunk.

Here many would probably think it best for Bubbles to tap into her "Hardcore" self, and match Boomer's anger with her own. Perhaps she would come out on top, then. But she chose instead not to. She rose to her feet, taking little notice of the painful swell in her jaw.

"Why can't you just love me? !" screamed Boomer.

_Where to begin? _Thought Bubbles as the boy demolished the spot she had just been standing in, "I don't even know you!" she said aloud.

"You don't need to know me! We're completely perfect for each other!"

A car exploded; a buildings fell apart like soggy crumb-cake; a lamppost became a lamp-ghost, all made room to happen during a single man's romantic plea. Also, a gargantuan display of superhuman power.

"Just cause you say that doesn't make it true!" Yelled Bubbles.

"I've watched you enough to know that it is!" So it turned out the handsome man had watched the innocent woman from afar. Every girl's fantasy until it happens in a real life scenario. Bubbles grew tiresome of the conversation. The fight, too, but mostly the conversation.

"I know you've been waiting for someone to come along and-" the sentence broke off from his lips as Bubbles produced an uppercut from her extensive repertory of combat maneuvers, which hit Boomer's chin and severed the head of his lexicon. Figuratively, mind you. Physically he nicked his tongue.

Boomer reeled from the attack. It wasn't the punch that hurt. It was his teeth, which had bit off the tip of his tongue, that was cause for alarm. Blood filled his cheeks and parted his lips. When his mouth opened the tide that fell out was not one to be romanticized by poets, nor was it one to be swam in. As soon as the life fluid was emptied from this boy's maw he screamed a short, withered scream better suited for victims of testicular collision. Body stunned, Boomer still had plenty of rage to make for combustion in his internal engine, so on he clattered in his armored suit of skin. Before Boomer could recommence his assault, however, Bubbles jabbed him roughly in the eyes.

Now partially blind, Boomer unleashed attacks in every direction, much like a belligerent blind man would in a room full of mannequins. Fleet-of-foot Bubbles slipped between the punches, squished her soft spots against him so as to be within tongue's length of his ear, and stripper whispered, "Want to hear a secret?" Still blind, and now horned up by close proximity with his desire, Boomer flushed his brother's shade and nodded his head with stiff vigor.

If a secret is composed of the passing shadows of silent words during a noontime eclipse when the guards are all asleep then what Bubbles told Boomer was the blazing sun's swollen cock shooting down cowboy piloted space-stations at teatime.

She screamed really loudly.

It wasn't a scream of pain, or of fear as seen in the horror films. It was a battle scream that ripped through Boomer's ear canal, pulverizing his ossicles, and drove a vibrating nail through his very bones. So loud was it that Boomer only heard the caterwaul for the first moment of its quickly fading existence. His inner ear burst after that leaving only the subtle ring of tinnitus. He felt it move through his body, very nearly shaking his molecules apart along the way. The windows surrounding the two exploded like bugs loured to a zapper on the bayou. Boomer's fall was done with only half that flourish.

At this point in the story any of you readers who were gamblers would be placing bets for this last battle. But we know that it is foolish for one to count their proverbial chickens before they hatch. Especially when there is a serial egg-crusher on the loose.

The other four fought in very circular motions. Blossom and Brick were much more linear yet more cautious. Every bull charge was followed by a serpentine retreat. Every motion registered by processors of the highest caliber, memorized in case the need for a counter was called. Always keeping their eyes focused, never giving more than necessary lest the other take advantage. Punches were short, motions were tight. To all the people watching it may well just have looked like an enchanted dance in the sky, something magical and romantic (a whole new world, if you will . . . of pain!).

Any fight, whether it be bare-armed or with katanas at sundown, is won with more than speed and strength. There are a myriad of factors such as precision, reach, style of fighting, that morning's breakfast, timing, endurance, state of mind AKA the rage O'meter, breathing, amount of light, direction of light, footing (rendered null due to flight), stratagem if there be one, luck, balance, if it presents itself the element of surprise, and of course how dirty you choose to fight (pro tip: hold a role full of quarters in your hand when you punch someone). Neither of these two contenders were cheating by any definition of the word, but they were aware of most of the other things on that list.

Neither could gain the upper hand, for all hands were otherwise busy with punching or blocking; occasionally wiping sweat away, but both participants were withholding large amounts of their power, waiting for that perfect moment to unleash hell. Brick saw that opportunity first. He landed a few light blows that threw off Blossom's balance, then he dropped all his weight and power behind a vicious downward haymaker, knocking the hero straight down to the ground.

Blossom landed with a demeaning thud, and bounced immediately to her feet. She noticed ominously that she had landed in a graveyard. "How convenient!" Brick yelled from above, "You may as well stay and die right here . . . not that it matters. This whole city will be a graveyard soon enough."

Blossom, who's mood has been soiled by the black rains of hatred for so long, felt her mind warp, like smoldering steel passed through a chilling current so that it retained its primary purpose, but lost its original shape. There was a faltering in Blossom, not of her spirit but of her reasoning. She no longer wanted to plan her attacks and conserve strength. The dragon residing in her chest awoke and unfurled itself from its tangled sleep. The smoke from its breath filled Blossom's lungs. Its huge wings smothered over compassion. Its fire became her own. Her inner goddess drew from its unholy sheath the dreaded sword of Shug'Nuggeroth, knit together from the bones of forgotten kings, and she was ready to decapitate a bitch!

Brick's prophetic words did not incite any verbal rebuttal from our hero. She brought both feet together the way one does when wishing to be returned home, but instead of clicking her heels, Blossom projected herself from the ground like an electric cannonball. Between her clenched teeth spilled small flames and huge rage. Her speed surprised and astounded Brick who had not been prepared to face such a direct attack. The boy was quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught, his defense proving to be no match for Blossom's full power.

We now return to your regularly scheduled fanfiction.

By the time the sun fully set the boys were piled together on the ground. Our three heroes stood a few feet away from them, lips slightly agape and spilling more breath than usual. They exchanged a few looks with one another. Blossom looked to Buttercup, who looked to Bubbles, who looked to Blossom, who then looked to Bubbles, who looked back to Buttercup, who then spun around a bit trying to find someone else to look at. Then she looked back at Blossom. Each felt that something was amiss, that battle was far too easy. Even as children the Rowdyruff Boys put up more of a fight than this. Blossom especially was anxious, being a pessimist will do that to people.

A divine hand snapped its equally divine fingers and the three boys began to rise from the paved slab they were so recently crushed into, looking as though they were cats just waking up from a lovely afternoon's nap. They stretched a bit, dusted themselves off, and looked pretty good considering (except Boomer who still had a little blood running from his ears).

"Well that was exciting." said Brick.

The girls' mouths parted like the Red Sea when Moses is in town. After a moment of brief shock, in which the girls looked between each other a few more times, Blossom mustered the gumption to speak, "Good. I would have been disappointed if that was all you had in you."

"Yeah, it's been too long since we've had a good fight," Buttercup said whilst rotating her shoulder, "I've hardly warmed up!"

Brick looked towards the western horizon where corona lashes fluttered one last lustful wink before resting beneath a starlit masque (read mask), "There's no point to fighting anymore. You've already lost."

"I demand to differ!" Yelled Buttercup.

The three boys closed their eyes as darkness wrapped the city in cold fingers. They began to change. Slowly, subtly at first, almost as if the change was something internal, like the sudden understanding of a far off philosophy that alters your life perspective. But as the metamorphosis went on they became more and more peculiar, more so on the outside than in. Their aura's, if such a thing exists, grew darker along with the sky. Four eyes shifted to a dark crimson shade, Brick's remained the same. Their skin took on an a lighter, almost sparkly complexion. Then they each sprouted a cape and top-hat.

"Bleh!" said the boys in unison.

"Oh my god," said Bubbles without wonder.

"Wait! Now you _are_ the guy I fought the other night! What the hell just happened?" demanded Buttercup.

"We've evolved into something much greater than mere super beings!" Declared Brick in an almost pontifical sort of cry, "We've become immortal. Cold bodied to our hellish core! Unrestrained with our power under this starlit parade!" The fact that no stars could be seen within city limits matters little when waxing poetic, "We now live an un-life as children of the darkstar."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" said gruff Buttercup.

"Like most who speak with rhetoric, you fail to bring about any sort of clarity." said sagacious Blossom.

"I think -" began adorable (even in stripper garb can Bubbles manage a childlike cuteness. Maybe that's why so many people like to watch her dance . . . eww), "They're vampires!"

"Correct!" the three boys yelled in unison, they then added an extra, "Bleh!" to assuage any lingering doubts.

"Mother fuckin' vampires? !" yelled Buttercup, "But we just saw you in the sunlight!"

"Your knowledge of vampires is but a mockery of the truth. We do not burn in sunlight, nor do we sparkle! The true vampire returns to his original mortal form during the day. Fortunate for us then that our original forms are still brimming with power, though not near as much as our vampire form."

"Well isn't that convenient?" sarcastically voiced by Blossom, "I'm not sure yet how you pulled those hats out of you ass without us seeing it, but you can't be vampires because vampires don't exist!"

"Does the nonbeliever need more proof? Are the fangs and capes not enough?"

By now the streets were beginning to fill with average joes and normal nancys, all coming to wonder at the spectacle. Before them stood heroes of days gone by, and more contemporary heroes . . . who were now, by all appearances, vampires. Bitter irony! Those that were shunned came out to defend while those who were cheered now intend to dine on the town's collective face! Woe! Woe! Woe most of all to virile Frank who came outside to watch his heroes battle evil only to be snatched up and devoured in the blink of a wink by perfidious Brick. Woe, etcetera etcetera.

"Need you more of a demonstration? ! Shall I drink my fill of these poor fools? !" yelled Brick. Blood shook from his lips in thick streams. He dropped formerly virile Frank's body to the ground, which fell, no strings attached.

"Bastard!" Buttercup rushed towards the murderer, ready to unleash a bloody vengeance. She was met with the back of Brick's hand, and her body flew off like a broken winged bird. She then fell in a very similar fashion.

"Come, brothers! Let us exercise a bit before we dine!"


	6. The Greatest Victory

"_Hate as your co-conspirer_

_He'll set you soul on fire_

_Hate makes the flames get higher_

_Deal with me now, Vampira!"_

"Vampira" by The Devin Townsend Band

The Powerpuff Girls in

Fierce Cup O' Reality.

Chapter the Sixth,

The Greatest Victory.

In times past, with mortal hands

three men fulfill plans long in the make.

On the hunt for lesser men

they cheat themselves of a nobler life.

Blood becomes a base for them

to preform their heathen ritual.

For days they round these humans,

as though they were cattle for a feast,

bringing them to a mountain,

the top of which is marked by dark script

written with the red life force.

Brick begins to chant his heathen prayer;

Butch and Boomer do so, too.

A void is opened in the center

where they stand. Dark heat rises

along with a voice of dreadful sin.

The voice: "Seek my mark so as to gain

a power in night without restrain.

This power comes not for free,

your mortal soul must you give to me."

Three heads, dark and grim, nodded,

releasing their souls into the void.

The abyss then seemed to smile,

as quite the catch had just then been made.

The voice: "Rules; the kind with finer font.

Fear not the sun, tarry all you want!

But as dawn shines its bright head

your powers return back to the dead.

Drink your fill in time of night.

Blood keeps you strong during this your blight!"

The void then faded away

into whatever dark place it rests.

Brick had become a new breed.

Butch and Boomer, too; a vampire!

**Brick's P.O.V.**

I'll try my best to enjoy this. This beating and bludgeoning of Blossom. I'll crack her skull, and split her lips, and even put on a show so as to seem like I'm having fun, but really I'm just killing to kill time (Did I just make a joke? . . . No, I didn't think so). I'm just not sadistic in nature like Butch is. He's having a great time with Buttercup, though he's showing remarkable restraint so as not to knock her unconscious or outright kill her. I'll compliment him on that later. Boomer probably likes this more than he'd be wiling to admit. Just touching Bubbles seems to be enough send him off shivering in a corner.

Oh dear. Blossom is trying to fight back again, she's so cute sometimes. I guess I can see why Boomer thinks we're all soul mates. Maybe in a different life we'd have met in high-school and started going steady, but that's just not how things are. Though, seeing her like this, with ripped clothes and spirit at the breaking point, maybe I should have her. Why not? Give these people a sight truly worth despairing over. Their hero getting fucked, literally, by their destroyer. We could be enemies with benefits (now that's a joke!) . . . Never mind. I'm never in a libidinous mood while in vampire form. Probably due to the lack of blood-flow. Oh well. I'll still try my best to enjoy this.

**Butch's P.O.V.**

Hidden. Always lurking beneath fleshy walls; scratching from the inside. Eyes beneath the water watching my family. The world is a web. I'm stuck and cannot leave. My brothers are stuck and cannot leave.

I break them open to reveal their real form. From their form I can learn their purpose. No one else can see them beneath the skin. No one else but my brothers. The spiders have them all fooled. We can seen their eight legs stretching under the flesh. Their eight eyes watching. Eight eyes can see so much.

That's why I must crush their frames and pull them from their skin costumes. It's the only way to figure out what they're up to.

I hear my voice slip away from me, "Not yet, Buttercup, we have a lot to go through before I can let you die!" I reel the rest in before anything important comes loose.

There is a response, a sharp collection of clicks and slurps. The spider's language. My ears are special, though, and I can understand their terrible words, "Ha. Do all vampires hit like pussies?" I'll have to discern the meaning later.

This one is stronger than most. That's because she is an elite chosen specifically to kill my brothers and I. She is faster, and stronger, but I am stronger still. I'll shatter her skin, and rip out her true body. Show them that I'm not afraid. I have to stop them in order to save everyone. I'm the only one who can.

**Boomer's P.O.V.**

If I had armpits made from roses I would always smell pretty.

**Blossom's P.O.V.**

My father was taken away from my family. I could have stopped them, but chose not too. It's my fault he's gone.

Right now a comet of a man rushes towards me. He claims to be a vampire. I can't believe him. The strength he shows now is unprecedented. I think he must have been holding back all these years. He crashes into me, I fall down. I hit the ground which is too soft to support the impact. Brick lands on top of me.

"Where has all your anger gone to?"

He grabs my neck and lifts me up.

"Allow me then to amuse myself with your body."

He pierces my skin and begins to draw my blood out. Something else is being drained along with my blood. Something incorporeal.

I didn't do anything to stop them when they came for father. Bubbles cried. Buttercup yelled. I did nothing.

His muscles relax. I am suddenly let out from Brick's teeth. A great sound of satisfaction releases from him.

"Ahhhhh! Even your blood is better than average, Blossom. I wonder if it has anything to do with your powers."

I feel weak. Weaker than ever before. My anger rises, but even that seems to be too much stress for my body right now. Brick is smiling at me, as though he's beaten me. He may kill me right here, but I've already felt a harder deafeat. What more can he do?

I muster up the last of my strength for one final act of rebellion, "Hey . . . Brick."

"Darling! If you still have strength left to speak than I obviously haven't finished with you yet!" Brick says then lifts me up by my hair, "Have you finally realized that you and your sisters are inconsequential when faced with the likes of my brothers and myself? I'll let you live if you agree to be my little slave. I'm sure my brothers would be willing to strike up similar deals with your sisters. Come now, a life of servitude is certainly better than death."

He lets go of my hair, and I'm forced to lean on him in order to stay standing. He smiles.

"You may kill me here," I push away from him, and manage to hold myself up, "but at least I wasn't born in a toilet."

He stops smiling.

"Fine then."

I didn't do anything to stop them when they came for father, but I should have.

**Buttercup's P.O.V.**

Fuckin' Rowdyruff Boys with their fuckin' vampire strength and their fuckin' operas. Fuckin' Blossom. Probably gonna fuckin' blame me for this. Fuckin' Butch with his fuckin' shirt and his nutty fuckin' entomology.

"I will save them all, Spider!"

"I don't know what that means!"

The hell is that wacko talkin' bout. Goin' on bout skin bugs like it's a normal thing. And Blossom thinks I have problems.

Crazy as he is he's kickin' my ass! Things are starting to get mushy. Can hardly tell what I'm lookin' at. The bastard still moves like water even after those few knocks I gave him earlier.

Heh.

Guess I was exaggerating a bit when I said I was relentless?

.

.

.

All this fighting is making me hungry . . . and tired. I think I'll take a little nap now.

Vuckin' Fampires.

**Bubbles' P.O.V.**

It's hard to tell what's happening, but I'm sure we're losing. And that really hurts. The physical pain is tolerable, but this is something else. Me and my sisters have always been able to come together and defeat any of the bad guys. I was hoping at least that part of our relationship had stayed the same over the years.

I wish I could have seen Dad one more time, but I'm glad he doesn't have to see what his daughters have become. We're nothing like what we were before he left. I tried my best to keep everyone together; at least I'll pass on knowing that much. I guess I'll see everyone on the other side.

Professor.

Dad.

Daddy.

Wait.

There's something else. Hidden. Rising deep in my gut. I feel it pulsing with the pain, like laughter. It is dark and strong. A perfect neutral; neither good nor bad. I reach for it, but it reseeds from my grasp, as though I'm not ready to use it's power. I'm so close to it!

"Brothers! We have a schedule to keep! The time for games has passed."

I almost don't notice Brick's words. But Boomer hears and obeys.

The lights go out.

**Normal P.O.V.**

The lights come back on for Bubbles. She's sitting next to her sisters who also seem to just be waking up. The Rowdyruff Boys are standing above them getting showered with the praises of ordinary citizens. Evidently they've already forgotten the tragic death of What'shisface.

"Yes, yes! Your love is well received, citizens!" cried Brick, who's arms were spread wide as if that way he could accept more of the people's love, "Louder! Louder!"

The crowd's collective voice grew till it matched the cacophonous cries of a generic pop singer's pre-concert party. A verbal gallery of whooping and hollers. The sort of peasant menagerie that inspired any reasonable person to rethink genocide ethics (at least for this one instance). The people yelled as though they were each tying to be heard individually, but instead their voices were sucked into the conformist blob that made up the vocalization. Oh, bitter hubris! By trying to gain unique attention, the people were making themselves less likely to be noticed.

"Sing of our victories!" shouts Brick to the people.

"We love you!" respond they.

"How much?" asks Brick.

"This much!" the people spread their arms as far as they can.

"Swear your fealty to us!" continues Brick.

"Sure, whatever that means!" the people say back.

"Entreat to us your complete subjugation, and become the proletariat of our regime!"

" . . . Yeah!"

"Vampires fucking rule!" one teenage youth yells.

"Yes, we do rule. Over you."

"Hurray!" Brick turns his regal head to face the girls, who remain in a pitiful pile on the ground. He speaks so that only they and his brothers can hear, "So you see," began he, "our victory over you is absolute. Your people believe that we will be their salvation. Ironic . . . no wait . . .yes, yes it is ironic."

Bubbles looks upon the crowd of civilians and feels nothing from them but the panting, obese obsession for the vampiric boys. Her heart splits. She wonders whatever became of those good times. She tries to remember if the happiness was taken away with her father, or if, perhaps, it lingered on a little longer, alive in Bubbles' optimistic soul. Could an idea, as abstract as happiness, do that? Physically reside in a person? Bubbles could not think of an answer at the moment.

"These people are only on your side cause you won the fight! Just wait till the sun comes back up, then we'll kick your asses all over again!" yells Buttercup.

"That may be, but the sun will never shine here ever again," says Brick, "Jorden Søln will see to that. And we will see to Jorden Søln."

"What are you talking about?" asks Bubbles.

"The meteor that is supposed to miss the Earth, Jorden Søvn; my brother's and I are going to alter its course so that it smashes this little planet to pieces."

Consternation slides through the girls like an icicle pulse.

"Every soul will be burnt away in a glorious instant. Then, it will be as though none of them ever were.

"This is why we had to become vampires. Our strength, though impressive by human standards, would not have been enough to move the meteor."

"Why? Why kill everyone? There's no point to it!" comes the voice of Blossom, become with rage.

Brick moves to Blossom's ear, whispering "Is there a point to anything else? . . . I think I will enjoy the peace and quiet."

"You fucking scumbag!" Buttercup pushes her battered shell off the ground in a futile attempt to stop Brick. He just pushes her down as though she were a child.

"Child. And now we take our leave. If there is a God out there, and he is as benevolent as they say, then I hope you can find your father their. And if Hell be your destination then fear not. For the devil can only hurt you with a third of the strength the Rowdyruff Boys posses." Brick turned to the normal citizens while he and his ilk begin taking the air, "Goodbye, gentle townsfolk. We'll meet again when next disaster strikes," and then they are gone into the sky.

Through the troposphere; the stratosphere; the mesosphere; the thermosphere. They are staying in the Earth's shadow, making sure the Sun does not rip their added powers from them before they can accomplish their dark task. The meteor is already close. Certain spots on the planet below can already see the space-rock. At its present course Jorden Søln would miss planet Earth. The boys took places beside the large mass, and with huge effort begin to alter the meteor's flight path.

Even with their vampiric bonus the boys struggle with Jorden Søln. It seems as though the meteor does not want to destroy all life on the planet below. But physical persuasion eventually wins, and the Earth is about to be impacted.

The girls can see all this with their super-vision. Pretty soon the meteor can been seen even by the unaided eye of normal folk.

Blossom looks calm, "I guess this is the end then."

Buttercup is the perfect mirror of her sister reversed. She is panicked, and she is trembling. "Whoa, wait! Shouldn't we leave? I know it's a shitty thing to say, but we could still get out of here. Maybe people will be able to survive on the other side of the planet?"

Blossom turns her aggression onto Buttercup tenfold, "Goddamn it! Just once try no to be a coward!" she is yelling.

"Oh, sorry that I'm not ready to die? ! This vague ideal of heroism you've been living by has multiplied your ego! Your cause has never been mine! Why can't you see that I'm not you? I'll never be like you! I've never _wanted_ to be like you! If you can't live life any other way than as a hero then you're the coward, not me!" Buttercup is manning all of her guns to return fire.

For Bubbles that familiar feeling starts to swell in her stomach again. That cold constriction of muscles.

"You were a coward before, when the Professor left, I don't know why I should be surprised now!"

"Me? ! I'm not the one who turned into a fuckin' gun for hire just to saddle up next to a monkey! Remind me, did Mojo Jojo have anything to do with what happened to dad?"

"You are a disgrace to our father!"

"When have you ever cared about your family? !"

That dark neutral cracks through to the surface. This time there is no need for Bubbles to try to grab for it; it is already consuming her. With it comes a simplistic clarity, one that allows Bubbles to realize that there has been a problem with her perception of all things. A fuzzy veil is lifted from her mind's eye, and the focus of things begin to shift. She is able to see her sisters throughout their whole lives. Their change from headstrong to craven; from inspiring to despicable. Bubbles could see, also, herself in this same fashion. She wanted to keep her sisters together after the Professor was taken away. She wanted to make sure they were still a family.

But she was angry at both Blossom and Buttercup. Since their father's incarceration neither of the sisters had asked poor Bubbles, "Are you okay?" They never told her, "you're not alone," or, "your family is still here. The tears you shed are not the only ones, and you don't have to cry in silence."

Bubbles hated her sisters now, but until this moment could not fathom such an idea, it went against her very nature to do so. She hated them more than Mojo Jojo, more than Him, or Princess, or Fuzzy, even more than The Rowdyruff Boys and the people who took the Professor away. She was willing to do anything for the two of them, and they hadn't noticed her through their own petty issues.

Bubbles drank this fierce cup O' reality, swallowed hard and asked for seconds. It felt natural. The cotton-candy glasses had come off, breaking beneath her foot. She no longer saw the bright side to the worst situation. Instead she saw herself, and the impact she could have on the world if she only moved. Reality became her stage, her name was being called, it was time to dance. And she was one hell of a dancer.

Her power thundered to life. Echoes were felt across the globe. Dark azure waves of intent rolled from her id to reality. It choked her sisters' arguments out. Blossom and Buttercup turned their eyes on Bubbles.

"Bubbles. Wha-"

Bubbles erupted, interrupting Buttercup. Everyone within ten feet of her was knocked off their feet. Most of the city-folk who had been enraptured by the sisters' fight were now fleeing Bubbles' might; others were to stunned to do even that most basic act of preservation. If the attractive glow given off by pregnant mothers was a sign of life creation then the glow Bubbles produced was the opposite light of the destroyer made tangible; an enfeebling charisma.

Bubbles looked upon her sisters. Her face was the most perfect example of rage and hatred. She would have terrified her sisters were it not for the tears falling in thick, free streams.

"You won't even try?" said Bubbles, "You're pathetic. Both of you." And she took off like a missile, aimed to deter the meteor as best she could.

Her body slammed into the meteor's surface. She could feel its gravity pulling on her, magnetic strings threaded into her skin. She pushed against the rock, her arms breaking into its surface as she did so. Bubbles screamed, part pain, part frustration. Jorden Søln would not move except towards Earth. The pressure building up in her own body was beginning to break out. The capillaries in her eyes were starting to rupture, and blood tears began to pour out of her. Still she could not move the meteor.

As her face flushed sanguine, as her teeth began grinding together, as her voice broke with sad heaving, as Bubbles was about to give up she heard a grunt coming from beside her. Blossom had began pushing against the meteor without Bubbles even realizing it. A second later Buttercup joined them. The three girls pushed until they all screamed a harmonious sound. Jorden Søln began to slow down; it was stopping. The girls continued and eventually the meteor began to reascend back to the heavens. Slowly at first, but faster as the girls picked up momentum. They made it out of Earth's gravitational pull, and let the rock go in the direction of the sun, traveling faster now than it had ever done before. They fell home.

As they landed back in Townsville they were greeted with cheer long kept from them. Many of the civilians saw what the girls had done. Bubbles' face was still weeping red, her hand were cut, swollen, and her body was shivering. She fell to her knees and passed out.

"Whoa!" Buttercup caught Bubbles before her head hit the ground.

"We need to get her home," said she.

The sun began to break over the horizon. The cheers became unwanted attention, the crowd was beginning to have a claustrophobic effect. The three rowdyruff boys, now bereft of vampire abilities, stomped towards our heroes. There composer seemed to indicate that they lost more than just power with the sun's assent, but also that posh, arrogant dignity that seemed so uncharacteristic.

"Dudes! The powderpuff girls totally just saved us!" yelled an excited young lad as the boys passed by. Butch punched his stomach really hard.

"You bitches!" yelled Brick, "Do you know how long it took me to come up with that plan?"

"Not very judging from its simplicity," retorted Blossom.

"Shut up! It was a solid plan! You and your meddlesome fucking heroics! You have got to be the only thing I hate more than this goddamn planet!"

"What was the point of your big plan anyways?" asked Buttercup.

"I've been wondering that too. The meteor wouldn't have left any survivors, so there would be no point to world domination."

Brick's brothers displayed a small trace of confusion.

"I thought you said there would still be a few people left after the meteor hit?" said Boomer.

"Yeah. You told us that we would come back and rule over the survivors easy." added Butch.

"Don't listen to them, morons. You'll just get confused."

Blossom's eyes filled with a sudden epiphany, "I see it now. You knew you couldn't push Jorden Sølv by yourself, so you had to get your brothers to help."

Buttercup turned to her sister, "What are you getting at?"

"Don't let Brick's fanciful rhetoric, and pompous looks fool you. He's not happy with life. I doubt he even sees a point to it all."

Blossom turned her gaze, once so pathetic to Brick, now so piercing and dangerous, "You wanted the world gone. You reflected upon yourself and saw an empty shell. Your intellect gave you the grandiose notion that you were superior to everyone else, then you began to see the world in black and whites, the common and the enlightened. But the only enlightened person you could see was in the mirror, and instead of trying to bring the world around you up to that same level you decided to shut the rest of society out. Everything became everyone's fault, and you felt that you were the only person who could fix things."

"Shut up," said Brick.

"And the only way you knew how to fix things was to erase them. To give yourself some peace and quiet."

"Shut up."

"But that wouldn't have helped you. Being alone in the vacuum of space would have only made you realize-"

"Shut up!"

Brick charged Blossom. He pulled her off the ground, wildly attacking in a manner that resembled an angry child. They fell and rolled along the broken roads of Townsville. When they finally stopped Blossom was on top of Brick, her knees pinning his shoulders down, and her fist raised above his head. The pink glow shinning from Blossom's hand shouldn't have been as intimidating as it was.

"You would have realized that getting rid of the world wouldn't have made your problems go away, because your problems live inside of you."

Brick looked somber, but not defeated, "If I were you, I would kill me now. There's no prison capable of holding me, and there are plenty of other ways I can destroy the world."

"I've already done a lot of bad things in my life," said Blossom, who had a face matching Brick's in its expression, "What's one more to that list?"

"Stop!"

That mellifluous sound came from above like a angel preforming a cappella. Bubbles had awoken, and Buttercup stood at her side.

"We've beaten him. You don't have to kill him." Bubbles rested her hand on Blossom's shoulder.

Blossom looked into Brick's eyes and saw no hope for change. He was defiant, and would be till the end.

"Bubbles, under normal circumstance you would be right. But Brick isn't like the other villains. He's not motivated by money, or power, or any sort of desire."

"Blossom . . . please. Show him that you're better than he is. That you don't have to go to his level to beat him."

Brick laughed, "Don't be fooled by sweet little Bubbles. Hesitation is a cowards tool. If you let me live you'll be killing this entire, miserable species.

"When you were looking into me I was looking into you, and you know what I saw? We're the same! You and me, babe. I'm what you would do if you had a really _really _bad day. We're cut from the same stone, you and me."

"Its 'you and I,' Brick," Blossom slammed her fist through Brick's skull, "'You and I.'"

She stood up only to fall back down. Buttercup helped her to her feet again.

Butch and Boomer arrived, stunned at what they saw.

Butch said, "You killed him," with an air of realization that he never before seemed to have.

Boomer cradled his brother's corpse and began to cry. Butch faced his adversaries.

"You!" he whispered.

The Powerpuff Girls stood together before Butch, horrifying in their stature. They admitted to no wrong doing, and denied nothing. Their faces were hard like war-struck Spartans, and their battered bodies didn't seem to affect their confidences at all.

"Take his body if you want, "began Blossom, "and get out of here."

Boomer looked to Butch for guidance, tears still coming from his eyes. Butch stood his ground for a moment, and had he done so a moment longer a fight was sure to break out again. But he backed off, and helped Boomer pick up Brick.

"We'll be back for you."

Then they left.

When the boys were completely out of sight Buttercup asked, "Are you sure it was a good idea to let them go?"

"Its fine. Without a brain to lead them they're only half as dangerous." Blossom's whole body then began to shake. She fell back to her knees and wept.

"I didn't want to kill him. I really didn't want to!" She hid her face in her hands.

"Hey, its okay," soothed Buttercup, "we understand. He wasn't gonna change."

"No, you don't understand. He was right. I'm just like him. That's why I was able to figure him out. I've gone through the same thing."

Bubbles moved Blossom's hands away from her face, "But do you want to stay like him?"

With a fury Blossom shook her head.

"Then you can change."

Blossom pressed her head into Bubbles' shoulders and wept. Bubbles held on to her sister, who was shaking with her own sobs. Bubbles rubbed circles on Blossom's back, but it seemed to do little in the way of comfort.

"I'm sorry," whispered Blossom continuously.

Noting the gathering crowd, that seemed to be a mix with respectful awe and obsessive leering, Buttercup offered, "I think maybe we should deal with all this sisterly bonding at home."

The flight home was quick, Blossom had managed to stop crying along the way. Buttercup was troubled, an awkward pressing of images swept all conscience slackerisms aside. There was a deconstruction going on in her gut. Not the sort of deconstruction that breaks down food and turns it into poopy, but a mental break down. Unlike most break downs, however, Buttercup's was a calm one built around self reflection rather than a loathing of the world exterior.

Their home was a shambling mess, but it was theirs, and it offered them the privacy they needed. The three sisters talked, and eventually laughed. Together they reassembled the house and made it livable again. After all the work was completed, and the house was restored to almost full glory, the sisters discussed future plans. They decided that it would be best for them to separate from one another, but still remain in contact. This way they wouldn't breed the same content they had lived with before.

Buttercup quit her addictions and went to see her father in what was thought to be a secret prison, but was made pellucid to her thanks to X ray vision. Just one of those perks that comes with genetically superior genes. Nobody was going to stop her from seeing him.

Blossom went back to school. She still kept track of Mojo Jojo lest he make some dastardly attempt at world conquest, but for the most part his evil only manifested as the corporate evil all billionaires seemed to have. She was ready to become a real leader again. Not just someone who gives orders, but a person who inspires.

Bubbles stopped stripping, instead she traveled the world, seeing and experiencing new things.

Townsville heard not from the Powerpuff Girls. They were mentioned in the same way urban myths are, though with a little bit more proof to back up the stories.

This adventure was wrapped up. Perhaps not in the neatest of packages, but one that held the contents together nonetheless. There would of course be more adventure for the Powerpuff Girls, their lives were not yet over, and power always attracts attention. There are tales of lust and romance; great battle and triumph; words and frivolity. All of these things would happen, and they would be glorious in their attempt even if the execution was foiled by a gangling knuckle-dragger who couldn't lace his own shoes without trying to discern some hidden nature within the experience. Anyways. These things were all going to happen, and true, Achilles-like greatness would have followed. The kind talked of by many, and envied by many more. Legendary stories not to be believed yet cherished by all!

But then the Sun exploded.

The End!

****

****


End file.
